


Elijah's Cup

by lembas7



Series: ECverse [11]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lembas7/pseuds/lembas7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. </p><p>Wherein the Pevensies of 1941 return through the wardrobe, and find that they haven't left adventure behind; and all the joy and pain that accompanies it. In 1993, Lucy, Edmund, and Peter return to Hogwarts just in time for the first escape from Azkaban, and all that follows . . . </p><p>[Prisoner of Azkaban, Chronicles of Narnia crossover; AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters, and my interpretations are my own. Harry Potter belongs to JKR, though I am disregarding everything after PoA with the exception of some of the magic. PoA itself is going to be AU’d, though I have lifted sections directly from the text in some places, for verisimilitude (and obviously, don’t own those sentences/sections). CS Lewis owns most everything else. The only thing I lay claim to here is the plot, and my interpretation of the characters.

* * *

**_1941_ **

* * *

**_(Peter)_ **

* * *

They had woken that morning to find themselves thrown back in time, far beyond the game of cricket that had led them to the wardrobe. Back, into the murmurs of war on the radio and patter of water on leaded glass. Funnily enough, it was the future; the one they’d been most likely to predict that sunny day. Before.

_“Oh! There you are! What were you all doing in the wardrobe?”_

_The wardrobe? But what -_

_A lifetime’s worth of memories slid back into place._

_And Peter couldn’t hold back his smile.  “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you, sir.”_

_A shaggy white brow hiked, mischief greeting the four children tumbled onto a dusty floor. The cricket ball arced through the sunlight spilling between them. “Try me!”_

They had, Peter recalled. Told a story so fantastic, it had to be true – and been met by one just as wondrous.

He leant his hand on his chin, staring out the window. More rain, _again_. Lucy and Edmund were just about climbing the walls, and even Susan’s patient forbearance was strained. They had retreated to separate corners of the room a half-hour ago, needing the closeness they had developed over the last decade but unwilling to risk intense close quarters turning their shared crabbiness into a true fight.

Peter twisted from the vision of the rain-soaked world beyond the window to survey his siblings. Ed’s knuckles were white, Lucy’s lips thin. He caught Susan’s eyes.“Turn that thing off, would you?”  

The announcer’s voice cut off in the middle of another report. Air attacks on London. _Mum_. They weren’t there.

_But not knowing about it doesn’t mean it’s not happening_ , he cautioned himself, resettling on the chair arm to split his attention more easily between their room and the view from his window. _It just means that Lu and Ed can sleep without nightmares._ He’d take it, even so, and take care to listen when they weren’t about. _It’s not like this is a war you can do anything about._

Narnia had been different that way, as well. There was little call for swordsmanship and armor now – not when there were more effective ways to dole out death.

But the tension slipped from eleven-year-old shoulders as silence spread gently through the room, and Ed visibly relaxed. Peter smiled to see it. Strange how easy it was to accept that they were children again, after having grown so much in Narnia. But it was only flesh, after all.

“Remember the rain at Cair Paravel?” Lucy asked. Of them all, the change from maiden to girl was most striking in her. Hair shorter than it had been in years – _It’s always been that way,_ Peter had to remind himself. _Here._ “Soft, and clean, even when it was driving down into the sea.”

“Not like it is here,” Ed agreed. In him as well Peter couldn’t help but notice the differences. The build and muscle of his prime were only a promise, now, but dark eyes still held a surprising depth of understanding and compassion. “Positively dreary.”

Susan shrugged. “It’ll be gone soon enough. With any luck tomorrow will be beautiful.”

“But we’ve nothing to do today!” Lu pouted.

Peter grinned.

 

* * *

**_(Lucy)_ **

* * *

 

And all she had left were:

 

_Three white buttons._

_A silver apple._

_A butter churn._

_Something you have never seen before._

 

Lucy recognized Susan’s precise handwriting, and her little nose scrunched in confusion. The older girl was usually quite down to earth. _Where in Aslan’s name am I to find a silver apple?_

Su had seen it somewhere, to have listed it. As for ‘something you have never seen before’ - there were quite a lot of _those_ around. It was just a question of which one. . . .

Juggling a fork with a twisted handle and a copy of _Great Expectations_ , Lucy reached for the doorknob, stealing one last look around the kitchen. It was so much bigger than the one at home. Cabinets, an electric stove, even -

“Oof!”

She gaped at the mess of boy and objects scattered over the floor. “Edmund?”

“Lu.” He rubbed his head, sending dark hair into disarray, and winced.

Heat crawled up her cheeks, and she knelt on cool slate to help him. “I’m so sorry, Ed, I didn’t hear you coming -”

“’S’Alright,” he smiled at her, and she handed him a red pincushion.

“Whose list do you have?”

“Peter’s.” An irritated grunt, as Edmund scanned the floor. He reached under the kitchen table to pick up a fountain pen, frowning at the missing nib. “Though where I’m to find a silver apple, I’ve no notion whatsoever.”

Lucy’s face fell.

“Aw, Lu, don’t tell me . . .”

“Susan’s,” she said glumly, trading lists.

Edmund scanned the paper for a moment, and she saw a familiar gleam in his eye. “What say you we team up?”

“Can we?” she asked eagerly, instantly enamored of the plan.

Her brother grinned at her, and she could see remnants of the Just, plain as day, in his face. “I don’t see why not. We can’t _both_ have the same object, and it’s not fair that one of us should lose out ‘cause of it.”

“I don’t think Peter and Susan had any idea that they would choose the same thing,” Lucy defended her older siblings instantly.

After a short pause, scanning the hallways for any sign of the Macready, Edmund spoke. “No, it had to be coincidence.” He looked over her list one last time. “Did you find the butter churn?”

“I thought for certain it would be in the kitchen.”

He smiled at her sigh. “No worries, Lu, I’m sure we’ll spot it.”

“But what about the apple?” That one was _hard_. She’d been searching for ages, and the only apples she could find were sour green.

Edmund’s brow wrinkled, dark eyes deep in thought.

Years of experience had taught her that it was best to let Edmund think in peace. While Peter was surprisingly insightful and attuned to the unsaid, Edmund was a logical thinker, relying more on outright actions and about as subtle as a knock to the head.          

But now dark eyes were thoughtful, and he began muttering lowly. “Neither you nor I have seen it, but both Susan and Peter have. Which means that they’ve been someplace in this mansion we haven’t.”

She shifted her load, frowning as the fork wobbled. Given that the likelihood of the siblings voluntarily splitting up had dropped to almost zero in the past few days, that meant –

“It was before Narnia. But where have they been that we haven’t?” Edmund chewed his lip, musing.

Unbidden, the memory came to her – wrapping arms around a red dressing-gown, burying tears against velvet softness. “The professor!” she blurted. He had wanted to see Susan and Peter in his office, after that awful night.  

“The professor’s study,” Edmund agreed, brightening. He hesitated. “Do they really expect us to take something from his office?”

Lucy shook her head, though she felt twinges of her brother’s uncertainty. _They wouldn’t possibly._ “We’re only to find the stuff on the lists,” she pointed out. “I doubt I could carry a butter churn without help, anyway.” It would be bigger than her, now.

Her brother hummed in agreement. “We have to put it all back, as well.”    

A laugh bubbled up. Trust Edmund to always be practical.

He grinned, one eye closing in a sly wink.

 

* * *

**_  
(Susan)_ **

* * *

 

She peered at her list, doing her best to make out the scrawl Edmund called handwriting. Years of practiced calligraphy had been abandoned in excited haste. But if that was a _d_ instead of a _ck_ and that was an _o_ and not an _a_ . . . If she held it to her nose, and turned her head like _this_ , and squinted just so . . . .

_Not a rucksack. A red sock?_

Yes, that must be it. She hoped.

Well, if there was any chance of finding a red sock, it wouldn’t be in the mansion’s foyer entrance. Upstairs? Most likely in her brother’s suitcase still, if she had any luck at all.

The artifacts bedecking the walls and corners ensnared her gaze, and Susan couldn’t help but linger. Though if she didn’t get moving, there would be no way she would beat Peter, or even Lucy.

_Oh, look at that!_

Unbidden, her fingers lifted to trace the sculpted nose, but pulled back on reflex.

_“No touchin’ of the historical artifacts!”_

Susan’s lips pursed at the memory of the Macready’s scandalized gasp. She really should go . . .

Her hand froze on the doorknob, foyer behind her. Blue eyes widened in delighted wonder. “Ohhhhh . . .”

 

* * *

**_  
(Edmund)_ **

* * *

 

“And one butter churn!”

A flash of humor from Peter, soothing as a spot of sunlight. Their brother wasn’t in the least surprised that he and Lu had joined forces – no more surprised than he had been to have to pry Susan out of the Professor’s library.

As a result of spending the last hour nose-deep in word-dusted paper, his older sister had only found two of the ten items on her list. _Su would be the one to lose herself in books._ She’d never lost her love for it, even when duty grew grim and difficult.

Edmund spared a last glance for the brightly-painted churn. This place almost was a museum, wondrously exotic in the jumble of stuff crowded into every corner. Though no doubt the system made sense, somehow. If only to the Professor.

An internal rumble caught his attention, and he cleared his throat. “What’s for dinner, then?”

“Hungry again, Ed?”

He grinned at Lucy. “Always!”

“It’s almost one,” Susan observed, falling in behind the two youngsters. “The Macready’ll be in the kitchen.” Though they might tire of the unchanging soup and sandwiches before they left, it was better than London’s wartime fare. However long they ended up staying, sooner or later the shortages would catch up even to the Macready’s vegetable garden. They’d be lucky to get anything like it in Finchley.  

But he didn’t want to think about that. Narnia was close, here; always only a door away. Even if that door was closed. He was learning to live with and without it.

The professor hadn’t tried to stop them from going back. It was just that every time they tried, they were met with solid oak paneling. And it had been only a week.

_Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen_.

He could hold to that, and his family, he knew. _They’re always there._ And they always had been, and forever would be. He lived with his decisions, good and bad, and rarely now needed to visit old memories of their entrance to Narnia.

“Deep thoughts, Ed?”

Peter, dropping back to walk with him. Hands comfortably tucked into pockets, he looked strangely older than the thirteen-year-old Edmund remembered, despite rounded youthfulness in his features.

“Home,” he managed a wry smile, and saw the High King understand.

“We’ll get back.”

His brother’s confident promise kindled a brighter smile. “I know.”

“Lunch!”

The Macready’s call split the easy silence between them, and Ed couldn’t help it. “Race you!”

 

* * *

**_  
(Mrs. Macready)_ **

* * *

 

Children.

_Hmph._

Hands plied a wet cloth, before sinking into floury dough.

Well, the Professor was a kind soul, for sure and certain. Lord knows she couldn’t have done it, were it her home. But there was enough room here to accommodate them, and the Professor wanted to do his duty to his country. There was nothing nobler, in God’s sight, than caring for the weak.

But four of them?

Finola kneaded, leaning her weight into the table. She had anticipated quite a few houseguests – they did have the room, after all. But these were such  . . . odd children. English, through and through, but that didn’t account for all of it.

She frowned, rubbing the pasty mixture. Too wet. A fistful of flour, then.

Betty and Margaret had taken care of the cleaning and rearranging, preparing space for the young ones to sleep. The professor was a kind soul, bless him, but the man’s head was in the clouds more oft than not. He needed looking after; the servant-girls were handy enough at keeping the Mansion fit for the tour groups that still came round, war or no. But there was always something requiring her attention. And for the past few days, it had been . . . children.

After that one raucous night, they had calmed considerably. The eldest had finally stepped up to take his family in hand, and the younger siblings had accepted their new situation. It was a little strange, how quickly they had settled down, but she could only be grateful for it.

They were out today, as the sun was shining as it hadn’t in days. Even she was tired of the dreary rain. Long past time for the sun to show his face again, all the brighter for the grayness of days past. She’d heard no shrieks or crashes all morning. Finola loosed a relieved sigh.

After one broken window, the children appeared to be taking care. But cabin fever had been weighing heavily on them. Yesterday, at lunch, she’d been sure the youngest girl would wriggle right out of her chair. A few words on her part had corrected the situation, though the constant fidgeting from all of them was enough to make her dizzy.

And _then_ she’d found the tarnished, decorative fork with the twisted handle, in a pile of odds and ends that surely hadn’t been lying along the hall floor that morning. She should’ve known that not hearing thumps and shouts didn’t mean they weren’t up to something. It was silver, and old – she’d been meaning to polish it for months, now, but what with everything, it had slipped her mind.

The eldest girl – Susan, her name was? Finola was never sure, though they had been here nigh on two weeks now. The boys were easier to tell apart; the eldest with his blond hair and blue eyes, the younger so solemn, dark of hair and eye and his skin so pale. Peter and Edmund. And the babe of the family was such a little girl. ‘Loo’, her family called her, though what sort of a name was that, Finola was certain she didn’t know. It certainly didn’t seem fitting.

The dough was rounded now, and needed only to rise. She smiled. Time in a bowl, a damp cloth draped over, and then to the oven. Bread was so much simpler than children. No matter how you might mold them, nothing ever went as expected in the baking. You could end up with something you barely recognized at the end.

But it was too new and beautiful a day for such old and harsh memories.

She settled the heavy porcelain bowl on the counter, pushing it far out of the way of the edge. It would be ready in a few hours’ time, and fresh for dinner.

 “ – an’ then Oi asked ‘im ‘ow long they was thinkin’ to be out, an’ he said all day! From the crack o’dawn! Can you ever imagine!”

Liverpool accent, high and loud. Margaret, a sweet lass. Orange curls peeped out from under her kerchief, as she giggled to Betty. Though a bit empty-headed. Her beau loved her, though, and Finola supposed that was what was important.

“What _are_ they doing out there in the forest, then?” Betty was from Carlisle, much closer to the Mansion than her friend. She was darker in coloring and more serious in countenance as well, though both girls shared the same sturdy frame.

Finola herself had kin in Dunfries. The children were the furthest-traveled of them all. Though no one knew just where the Professor had gone in his many journeys. Goodness knew, the man had probably seen the world twice over.

“All day?”

The giggling girls noticed her at last, and bobbed in quick curtsies.

Margaret was the one to answer. “Yes’m. I asked Peter, the oldest, that I did. He was wanting a kip for their midday meal.”

“When was this?” Finola’s mouth was a tight line. They certainly hadn’t asked her for permission, thankful as she was to have them out from under her feet.

She saw Margaret blanch at the question. “This mornin’, marm.”

Finola suppressed a sigh – she needn’t be so hard on the girl, she supposed. Margaret might not have the sense God gave a goose, but the lass’s heart was in the right place.

“Thank you, Margaret. Back to your chores, girls.” A murmur of “yes’m”, a bob of kerchiefed heads, and the lasses were gone in a whirl of skirts.

Though the eldest should have waited and asked permission. There was nothing out there that wouldn’t keep long enough for them to speak to her. They were past the age to begin taking responsibility for their actions. Green eyes narrowed behind thick lenses. She had a responsibility to their mother, after all.

The housekeeper nodded her head firmly. She would have to speak with them then, when they came back. But the midday meal wouldn’t take half as long to prepare, now, with only the Professor to feed. Lord be praised for small blessings.

 

* * *

**_  
(Lucy)_ **

* * *

 

“Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?”

“Oh, do stop moaning, Edmund!” Lucy stopped chiding her older brother long enough to slither past another patch of thick mud. It truly wasn’t that wet out. Mostly. Oh, but she missed being tall!

“That would be the High King. And we all went along with it,” Susan reminded him, stepping carefully around a soggy section of grass.

Lucy giggled. Edmund’s grousing was just a show – no matter the weather, he always preferred outdoors to in. Unless they were at Cair Paravel. But there was so much more to do there . . .  

She should be upset, she knew. But unlike Susan, Lucy didn’t feel as if she’d lost anything. She would always carry Narnia with her, tucked away in the same place as the burning hope that they would get back one day. Until then, this was just another adventure.

“Yes, but honestly! Did we have to leave before daybreak?”

“If we wanted to get anywhere, yes,” the High King himself answered blandly, a smirk begging to be released.  

“But we don’t even know where we’re going!”

Lucy turned just in time to see her oldest brother’s response to that protest. A gentle nudge at an unbalanced moment, and –

“Hey!”

Dark strands caught the wind as Susan shook her head fondly. Peter grinned, laughing aloud. Edmund tried to snarl, but the effect was ruined by the smile pulling at his own features. Ankle-deep in mud, the eleven-year-old let a wicked grin have the rule of his face.

Lucy’s eyes widened, hands coming up to cover her smile. _Uh-oh . . ._

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

The blond boy reached out a hand to help Edmund loose of the thick stuff. “You’ll be cleaning off your shoes for a week?”

“War!”

The High King yelped as Edmund the Just dragged him into the pool of squishy black sludge. He stumbled, and Edmund dodged.

Lucy stared, as the loud sounds of surprise and chaos died into the forest. Giggles welled up, bursting free. She really couldn’t help it. _Oh, what a mess!_

Peter rose carefully, rueful smile replacing the grin. Mud coated his left knee and the opposite hand, where he’d managed to catch himself from sprawling full-length in the stuff.

“D’you think you could hand me my shoe?” Ever polite, was Edmund. Particularly when he wanted something.

Peter snickered, dislodging the article in question from the sucking glop.

Susan huffed a sigh, moving to brace her younger brother. The eleven-year-old had managed to leap free of the mud entirely, and was balanced on one leg a surprising distance away.

“Thanks, Su.” Wobbling crazily in an effort to keep his socked foot from the ground, Edmund leant gratefully on his older sister.

“D’you need any help, Peter?” Lucy stepped a little nearer.

“No, keep back, Lu. No sense in any more of us getting filthy.” A few careful moments later, the eldest had freed himself. “That bad?” he asked wryly.

Lucy nodded, gasping for breath amid laughter. She slowly surveyed her oldest brother, and broke down once more. Mud not only thickly coated his shoes, smeared knee and hand, but had spattered across his trousers and shirt as well. _I haven’t seen Peter this disheveled since_. . .

A day at Cair Paravel, at least a month ago. She’d decided that duty was light enough at the moment to persuade her family to cancel the court for a day, and declare holiday. They’d played along the seaside  . . .

_Not a month_ , she had to remind herself. Goodness, but it was tricky keeping it all straight! Time there was not time here. So perhaps she’d be better off thinking of it differently, as Narnia-time, instead. _I wonder how much time has passed there, since we went through the wardrobe . . ._

No use moaning over spilt milk, as her mother was fond of saying.

“All right there, Ed?” Peter finished wiping his hands in the wet grass, plucking handfuls to scrub the worst of the mud off his clothes and shoes.

“Yeah.” Edmund had followed suit, and was a little cleaner than before. “But seriously, Peter, where are we going?”

“Lu, would you get the map out of my shirt pocket?” Peter held up damp and dirty hands.

“Map?”

She traded a surprised look with Susan – though why, she had no idea. Peter was usually the conscientious one. The map was carefully traced, showing the Mansion, the grounds, and the nearby forest – one of the few that was left from the country-wide logging of the Industrial Revolution. And it showed the nearby border to Scotland.

Very near.

“Peter, are we _in_ Scotland?”

Lucy glanced up, surprised at the tone of Susan’s question. There was no need to be so aghast at the idea. They’d crossed borders before . . . _in Narnia,_ she had to remind herself. _Not the same_.

Here, they were just children, and might actually get in trouble for it; no matter that there were no fences barring the way.

“I can’t tell,” her brother admitted. “I don’t know exactly how far we’ve come.” Lucy herself couldn’t keep track; the measures she had used in Narnia were for an adult’s stride – and Narnian figures didn’t convert well besides. Susan always had the best head for math, anyway.

“Oh, honestly!”

Lucy looked to older sister. “Don’t be upset, Susan.” Her sister’s blue eyes – the one thing she and Peter shared – refused to meet her gaze. “It’s not all that bad.”

“We should go back.” Susan was fretting again – she did it periodically. It had been the worst, the first time they had entered Narnia. Her siblings had endeavored to cure her of this habit, but even by the time the white stag had appeared, they hadn’t fully succeeded.

“We don’t even know if we’ve crossed the border or not,” Edmund pointed out. Reason usually worked with Susan. “It’s not yet mid-morning, even. Likely we haven’t.”

“Even so, we shouldn’t be here.”

Lucy leant against her sister’s coat, gazing up at her. Why was Susan so afraid? It truly wasn’t as if they were violating a law, or some such. Scotland had been a part of Great Britain for a long time. Most maps only showed the border as a mark of courtesy – much like the borders of the LoneIslands. They had been a territory of Narnia, though far outside its borders.

Peter’s eyes narrowed, softened. “If you truly want to turn back, Susan, we will. If it upsets you this much . . . .”

Oh, no! But the look in Peter’s eyes, as he gazed at the others, was decided. And they would follow him. How could they not?

“Please, Susan?” Lucy clasped her sister’s larger hand. “Please?”

Blue eyes met hers, and she smiled hopefully.

A long moment, as Susan looked at each of her siblings, and then sighed. Lucy felt the tension slide out of her, pressed as she was to her sister’s side. “All right. But I don’t think this is a good idea.”

 

 

* * *

**_1993_ **

* * *

**_  
(Fudge)_ **

* * *

 

“Muggles? At Hogwarts? Surely you must be joking, Headmaster!”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully from the large chair behind his desk. The man’s office was cluttered with esoteric bric-a-brac, including a perch immediately behind his desk which was perpetually empty. “I believe the students will benefit greatly from having them there.”

_One must make allowances for elders, of course. But the Headmaster is more than a little . . . eccentric._ Why else would someone without an owl bother keeping a perch, after all?

_“Harumph._ ” Fudge cleared his throat, a little confused. “And how so, Headmaster? They can’t possibly be expected to teach – in fact, the youngest children at Hogwarts would know more about our world than they do!”

_A preposterous idea. The School Governors would never stand for it! How does Dumbledore think I’ll ever allow this?_

“Except in the Muggle Studies Program.”

Fudge paused. Propped an ankle on the opposite knee, and folded his hands in his lap as he leant back in his own armchair.“The what?”

“The Muggle Studies Program.” Dumbledore smiled at him.

He frowned. “I don’t recall there being a Muggle Studies Program when I attended Hogwarts.”

“Oh, it’s been in existence for quite some time. Unfortunately, it’s sadly understaffed. Hogwarts has nothing to compare to BeauxbatonsAcademy or even Durmstrang Institute. And what with the current political climate, Muggle Studies is becoming even more important.”

_The ‘current political climate’?_ “What’s that supposed to mean?” Fudge asked gruffly. Old and strange, Dumbledore might be. But he had authority, and people liked him. If he should decide to run . . .

_It would be a fight._ One that Cornelius was not sure he would win.

“Only that in times of peace, witches and wizards should try to learn as much as we can about those others that inhabit this planet. Our spells keep us safe from prying Muggles, but should we not instead embrace the chance to learn more of them?”

That was an exceedingly good statement. Dumbledore could have no objection to his borrowing it in his next report on the state of the Ministry.

“Hmmm. Well. We can’t allow Hogwarts to be remiss in any area of study. We wouldn’t want to fall behind Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, after all. British witches and wizards want to send their children to the best possible school, not some foreign place, Dumbledore!”

“Of course, Minister.”

“And you’ll inform the Governors of my decision, yes?” After all, it wasn’t the Minister’s job to get involved with the running of Hogwarts. Best leave that to the Headmaster, and allow him to deal with the details.

“But of course, Minister.”

_Good, good. Can’t have a British school falling behind some landlocked academy! Why, it would be a disgrace!_

“All right, then, Albus. It’s been good seeing you again. Mind you get them well settled in before the school year begins.” He stood and held out a hand.

Dumbledore gripped his fingers congenially. “Of course, Cornelius.”

 

* * *

**_  
(Madam Hooch)_ **

* * *

 

“Lean forward slightly, and touch back down!”

Good, now even the littlest girl was back on the grass. Another first lesson over with, and no broken bones this year. Not bad at all. Rolanda smiled, feeling the wind ruffle her hair.

“That’s it for today!” she called over the buzz of excited voices. One or two looked a little green, but that was only to be expected. “Anyone with any questions, or who wants extra tutoring, come and see me!”

And this was a beautiful day for flying, one of the nicest so far. She did so dislike having to teach beginning flyers in the rain. So much more to go wrong, with low visibility and cold fingers that couldn’t grip polished wood. Add to that, she really must talk to Dumbledore about getting new brooms. Nothing spectacular. Perhaps some of the Nimbus line now that their prices were dropping, what with the new Firebolt coming out.  

“Madam Hooch! Madam Hooch!”

One of the young Ravenclaws was pointing. She turned to look, and hawk eyes narrowed.

“Go to class, Bixby.”

“But Madam Hooch, look at the -”

“Bixby! Class! I’m sure Professor Snape would like his students to be on time. _All_ his students,” she added. She understood Severus. He taught a class that could be just as dangerous as flying, in its own way. The children needed to learn care. But first, Bixby would learn punctuality.

The boy blanched, and ran after the rest of the first-years. Ravenclaws were generally a good bunch, but sometimes too smart for their own good. A challenge to teach, always asking questions. But at least her nerves were never as frazzled as when she had to instruct the Gryffindors. That lot were always much too daring, especially first time out.

She waited until all the students had disappeared back into Hogwarts, before mounting her own broom to investigate. Leaving twenty broomsticks unattended screamed against all her safety instincts, but –

As she approached the lake, the giant squid sank back down beneath its waters. Frightened away, most likely. 

The three individuals who had been playing with it seemed unperturbed by her approach.

“May I ask who you are, and what you’re doing here?” She kept one hand on her wand, just in case.

One of the two men stepped forward, holding out a letter. “We’ve received a message from Albus Dumbledore. We would like to speak with him.”

It was the Headmaster’s handwriting, and she recognized the green ink.

She eyed the blond man, but any expression hid behind a neat beard. The auburn-haired woman smiled at her, hands and arms still dripping from playing with the giant squid.

“You’re Muggles?” They were dressed that way, not a wand or robes in sight. These days that didn’t mean much, especially with travelers. But she was no willfully-ignorant pureblood, after all – and these three had been watching her fly with too much interest for wizards.  

“We would like to speak with Professor Dumbledore, if you please,” the second man broke in. He was slightly taller than the blond, dark eyes solemn. For the first time she noticed that both men had mud on their denim trousers and hiking boots.

Rolanda made her decision, and nodded briskly. “Wait here.”

 

* * *

**_  
(Dumbledore)_ **

* * *

 

“Three?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

He chewed thoughtfully on a lemon drop. “No need to be concerned, Rolanda. I asked them to arrive. The young lady will be of great help to Hagrid this year, I believe, and all are part of the expansion of the Muggle Studies program. As well as assisting in various other capacities at Hogwarts. I hadn’t believed they would respond to my letter.”

“Headmaster?”

He traced a finger idly across the papers on his desk. “It is quite a shock, Rolanda, for the youngest of our students to go from living without magic to it being part of the very air they breathe. Pomfrey has mentioned occasionally needing someone to speak with them. One of those young men is a counselor for troubled teenagers in the Muggle world. He agreed to come work with some of our students.”

“I see, Headmaster.”

She didn’t. But she would. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stretched. “Out by the lake, you say?”

“Yes. But Albus - ”

He twinkled at her. “It will be quite fine, Rolanda. No need to be concerned. And I do believe that there are twenty or so broomsticks waiting on the lawn to be taken in.” She never did let the students touch them outside of class, until they had reached second year. Training them to be responsible, and see the broomstick for what it was – a tool, but one as dangerous as any other if misused.  

He was truly blessed in his staff. Not only were they all competent people, but the greater majority of them were _good_ , as well.

They were waiting out by the lake, just as Rolanda had said. The young lady tickled one of the giant squid’s tentacles. One of the men was speaking quietly to the other, picking at the lawn.

“Welcome, once more, to Hogwarts.”

Three startled gazes snapped to his.

“Professor!”

He laughed, fielding an armful of enthusiastic young lady. “Lucy, my dear. How are you?”

“Quite fine,” she answered pertly. Stepping back, dark eyes looked him over. “You are not so well as I expected.”

The headmaster managed a laugh, for all he was still surprised by how little she had changed. “Time may be kinder to wizards than Muggles, but we still age.”

A bright peal of laughter. “An ‘unexpected side-effect’, according to someone I know.”

The dark-haired man stood from his relaxed sprawl on the grass. “You’re looking well.”

A smile then, for this serious young man. “Thank you. And you?”

Edmund laughed. “Never better!”

And Albus could believe it. “Peter.”

The blond shook his hand firmly, and Albus was surprised to note that his younger brother had passed him in height. “Thank you for your invitation.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. We have much to speak about.” He surveyed the young ones before him, pulled his beard absently. Much, indeed. “More than I suspected, when I first set out to find you.” He hesitated. “Susan?”

Sorrow, on all three faces.

“I see.”

“No.” Peter, working past the grief to answer. Changed in face and form they might be, but these ones were so like the children – had they been that, even then? – he had met just over fifty years ago. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then I believe we all owe explanations.”

A short while later, seated in his office, he offered them each a lemon-drop. Blue eyes scanned the changes in the room, and settled on him.

“Dippet?”

“He passed on a short time after you knew him,” Dumbledore said softly. “I have been Headmaster here for thirty-eight years, now.”

A moment of silence. The portraits on his walls were looking avidly on; at least, the ones that weren’t snoring.

“Susan is in America,” Lucy said brightly. “She’s become a scientist, has her PhD in Biology. She’s studying Hutchinson-Gilford Progeria.”

“Oh?” He might be considered one of the most learned, and eclectic, individuals in the Wizarding World, but medical knowledge had never been his strongest suit. Especially Muggle medicine.

“Gerontology,” Edmund cut in gently. “Premature senescence, to be precise.”

“Ah.”  That explained . . . quite a lot. _And you all miss her terribly, don’t you?_

“From what your letter said, I was under the impression that this Voldemort fellow was centered in Britain.”

Albus looked to Peter. Fifty years had wrought invisible changes. _You were always the most expressive. But then, I never saw you before your court._ “Yes, for now. He has a following, and it is growing. But in America – yes, Susan should be safe.”

“For now?” Edmund’s concern was palpable, even through what wasn’t being said. He could read the tension in them. One that came from more than physical distance. _And perhaps that has more to do with her chosen career. Susan, Susan . . ._

“Who is Voldemort?”

He met Peter’s eyes, and bit back a smile. There was the familiar determination. “He is the scourge of our world, the Grindelwald of a new generation.” How to explain the horror and pain? “He looks to control the Wizarding world through murder, and genocide of Muggle-borns such as yourself.”

He saw darkness in their eyes at the word. Regrets were vain . . . but he could not help but regret that they had been dragged into a nightmare not of their world. Either of them.

“He will plunge the world into darkness, should he succeed.”

“But who _is_ he, Dumbledore?”

And at last, the Headmaster understood how a mere child had commanded legions, ruled as High King over his people, and cared for his family as well.

Dumbledore sighed. He truly did not want to do this. “When you knew him, he went by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

 

* * *

**_  
(Edmund)_ **

* * *

 

Betrayal.

It was his curse to always see it, and never be able to affect or be affected by it. Sins of omission, after his one great sin of commission.

Edmund wondered why he wasn’t surprised.

He looked over the room he had been given. The strange creatures called house-elves had come and gone, explaining how to set the password on the tower door, ensuring that none but the three Pevensies were granted access. The tower itself was sequestered in an area of the castle reserved for members of Hogwarts faculty and staff.

Meeting those men and women had been . . . interesting.

Flopped on his four-poster, Edmund absently wriggled free of confining laces. Muddied boots hit the floor with a _thud._

  _By Aslan, if I ever grow stiff and sour as that Potions Master, I’ll ask Peter to dump me in the lake. What was his name? Snip? Snipe?_ Oh, well. Lucy would probably remember. Peter definitely would, if it came down to that. Or the High King would watch his brother flounder about in negotiations – talks, with the man, and let him suffer for winning the now-traditional mud-fight.  

Edmund twisted a little more, but the bed really was incredibly comfortable. And they _had_ walked a fair distance, from the Mansion.

He had enjoyed going back, even with the changes. Professor Kirke had passed away many years ago, giving the Mansion, with its artifacts and happy history, into the care of the Pevensies. It had managed to shock them right out of their grief, for a time.

They went back only rarely. It was a sanctuary for all of them, even Susan. Edmund had half-expected her to disclaim all rights to her fourth of the Mansion’s estate value. He still didn’t know why she hadn’t, but it gave him hope, treacherous as that was. But they couldn’t be permanently connected with the place, what with having to change homes and jobs every decade or so. Staying long enough for anyone to realize that they weren’t aging . . . didn’t happen.

Though his brother was able to provide them a measure of security and protection, now. For all the government’s security and background checks, they relied on the information in their computers and records. And who would notice the unobtrusive actions of one lowly criminal profiler?

Edmund chuckled, rolling to his stomach. The view out his window, though it wasn’t the highest room in the tower, was still amazing. _I would never credit Peter with such deviousness_ , he thought admiringly. Granted, not many people did – which was what made him such a brilliant tactician.

Another slight wiggle had him sinking into the luxurious mattress. His flat in London had nothing like it. He was . . . nearly . . . asleep . . .

“Edmund!”

Something shrieked at him, sending him scrabbling for the knife under his pillow. Dammit – he never slept without a blade close to hand – where was it! His whole body jounced as that same something landed on his bed.

“Wha -”

Lucy giggled, swiping red locks out of her face. “Don’t look so dazed, Ed! We do have to go to dinner in an hour or so.” She made a face. “Dumbledore has to introduce us to the students.”

“You frightened me out of ten years’ growth!”

She snorted.

_Oh._ “Well, you damn near gave me a heart attack, Lu!”

“Then maybe you should answer when I knock.”

He rolled off the bed, and rolled his eyes. “I was sleeping.” _Almost._

“Then it’s a good thing I got you up before dinner. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

A younger sibling’s logic. “D’you like your room?” Better to retreat from the battles he couldn’t win, with his dignity still intact.

“It’s lovely! From the top of the tower – you can see everything, Edmund! Thank you, by the way.”

He grunted, fiddling with the comb in front of the mirror. “It looks adorable, dear,” it told him. “So ruffled and sweet. Have the ladies’ hearts pounding!”

Lucy stared.

Edmund closed his mouth. “As the ‘ladies’ will be eleven to seventeen, I’d really rather avoid that,” he told it dryly.

“Oh.” It sounded distinctly disappointed. “Well, do keep on combing, then. It looks much worse already.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm from his voice. _Lovely. I wonder if I can convince Peter to switch mirrors with me . . ._

* * *

**_  
(Padfoot)_ **

* * *

 

_Run!_

Humans, shouting, pointing.

_Run!_

The dog ducked under a wildly waving net. The human cursed, spittle flying. _Dog Catcher_ , it heard. _Animal Control._

_Run!_

Black fur slipped free of grasping hands, and disappeared among the shadows.

 

* * *

**_  
(Harry)_ **

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe we missed the Sorting,” Hermione said quietly.

It had only been two days ago, but she was still upset. Harry didn’t really care; he’d missed the Sorting last year as well.

_But those - Dementors  . . ._ He had to fight the urge to sock Malfoy one every time he passed the Slytherins and heard someone hiss ‘ _fainted_ ’ and _‘scared_ ’ and any of half a dozen more words that meant Malfoy wasn’t going to let him forget the incident on the train. It wasn’t his fault, according to Professor Lupin. The Slytherins weren’t making it any easier to believe him.

And the screaming . . .

“Oh, come off it,” Ron mumbled thickly, through a mouthful of chicken and rice. Hogwarts food was excellent – Harry felt like he was coming off a famine, loading his plate with food and then piling high when no more would fit. “S’not like you know any of the first-years, anyway.”

“Well, it would have been nice to see.”

Harry had to agree with that – he hadn’t been to a Sorting since his own. “We’ll make it next year,” he said confidently.

The look Hermione shot him wasn’t exactly reassured.

He turned back to his plate, looking over his schedule once more. He didn’t want to admit it, but McGonagall’s talk in Transfiguration had really soothed his nerves. Hermione’s attitude toward the insect-like Divination Professor was also comforting.  

“ _I think it’s a load of hogwash_ ,” she’d said, as soon as they got out. “ _A Grim? Yes, it might have looked like a Grim – if your eyes were half-shut and you had the cup tilted at exactly seventeen degrees from the vertical. Because at eighteen degrees it was_ definitely _a llama.”_

_Ron snickered._

At least most of the class wasn’t convinced now that he was going to drop dead on them in the next week. The more reasonable half of the class. He already had the sinking feeling that Lavender and Parvati weren’t about to let go of the idea anytime soon.

They were about halfway through their meal, listening to Seamus’ impression of Trelawny on one side and fourth-years enthusing about Lupin’s first lecture on the other. “Can’t believe Snape’s already got it in for us,” Dean moaned.

“I can,” Ron muttered. “Slimy git’s nose is always out of joint about _something -_ ”

“Harry, Ron, who are those people?”

“Who, Hermione?” Harry looked around the Great Hall, but he didn’t see anything out of the norm.

“At the teachers’ table. Look.” She wouldn’t point, but she did jerk her head towards the front of the hall. “Sitting on Lupin’s other side.”

“Those three?” Ron frowned.

Harry looked, forgetting his meal in his surprise. Where he’d noticed that wizards wore ‘Muggle’ clothes under their robes, which marked them out from the rest of the world, these people weren’t wearing robes at all. If he didn’t know better, he’d think –

“They’re Muggles,” Ron said, surprised. His fork, loaded with carrots, had halted halfway to his mouth.

“Don’t be silly, Ron,” Hermione scoffed. “When will you two read _Hogwarts, A History_? There’s so many anti-Muggle and Muggle-repelling charms on Hogwarts that no Muggle should be able to get within ten miles of here. And even if they did, they wouldn’t see anything. Muggles don’t see magic, after all. They can’t even see Dementors, and those can kill Muggles, too.”

Harry suppressed a shiver. He’d decided that of all the things he’d seen in the magical world so far, he liked those the least. Even less than Professor Snape, if that were possible. “But what are they doing here?” he asked reasonably.

Harry shrugged. “And why haven’t we noticed them before now?” It was . . . strange, seeing people in Muggle clothes conversing easily with the Wizards. There couldn’t be a lot to talk about. _I mean, how much does the average Muggle really know about the Wizarding World?_ Not a lot. Nothing at all, if the Ministry had their way. But that didn’t really hold, because there were Muggle-borns out there whose families knew about wizards.

“I’d like to know how they got here,” Hermione frowned. “They weren’t on the train, or we would’ve heard.  Or at least seen them before. And the Dementors are guarding the grounds, now . . .”

“Can we not talk about that?” Harry asked tightly.

Hermione and Ron stared. “Alright, Harry.”

They looked back to the teachers’ table, changing the subject by unspoken agreement.

“They look . . . weird,” Ron said, after a moment.

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione huffed. “They’re not weird. You’ve seen Muggles before.”

“No, no,” he said crossly. “I don’t mean like that. Just – you’ll see what I mean. Look at them.”

“What are you looking at?” Fred put in, his twin peering over his shoulder.

“The teachers’ table,” Harry answered.

“What’s at the -”

“Whoa!”

“Muggles?” George recovered his tongue before Fred. “Wait a minute . . .”

“You’re right,” Hermione said decisively. Harry’s attention jerked from the gaping twins to his friend. And jerked right back again.

“Well, of _course_ they’re Muggles, Hermione. I’d’a thought you’d recognize ‘em.”

She scowled at George. “Not you. Ron. There’s something different about them. I don’t know that they’re really Muggles at all.”

Harry looked back to the table, concentrating for the first time. There were three of them, two men sitting on either side of the one woman, all in Muggle clothes without a wand in sight. They all seemed to be in their mid-twenties, but the blond man with the beard looked older than the rest. He was talking quietly to Professor Sprout on one side. The woman was slender, with had long, dark reddish hair, and was very pretty. The last man was on her other side, sitting next to Professor Snape with a completely blank expression under a well-combed head of brown hair. But there was something – in the air around them – something that wasn’t -

“Feel sorry for him, sitting next to Snape. A Muggle and all,” Ron muttered.

“Well, I bet dear Snape is just _charmed_ to make his acquaintance,” Fred drawled.

“Thrilled.”

“Enchanted.”

“So _very_ pleased,” George falsettoed, a hand to his heart. Harry snickered as he fluttered his eyes. _Snape looks like someone’s pushed one of Seamus’ old socks under his nose._

It seemed that their distraction was enough to send more and more people’s eyes toward the professor’s table. The whispering started low, but was then hissing steadily under the noise of cutlery and conversation.

“Isn’t he going to tell us anything?” Hermione demanded, looking at her watch. The meal was almost over. “Eat your vegetables, Ron.”

The fork was still halfway to Ron’s mouth, forgotten. “Yes, _Mum_ ,” he muttered. As soon as Hermione looked impatiently back to the front of the hall, he dropped the cold food onto his plate in disgust, and threw a napkin over it.

Harry had finished eating quite some time ago, so it came as no surprise when the plates vanished. The Muggles seemed to be taking all the wonders of Hogwarts in stride, as well.

_Clink, clink, clink._

“May I have your attention?” McGonagall, a slight smile on her face as the noise died down.

Dumbledore stood, his smile twinkling out at them. “Good evening. As I am sure many of you have noticed by now, we have a few guests here at Hogwarts. I am pleased to introduce to you Peter, Lucy and Edmund Pevensie, formerly of Finchley.”

As one, the three stood.

“They’re related?” Hermione asked.

Harry was surprised as well. From here, they didn’t look anything alike. Except, maybe, in the way they moved, and held themselves.

“Shhh!”

“As many of you have probably guessed, they are Muggles.” At that, the whispering took on life of its own. The three exchanged somewhat wry and amused glances.

Dumbledore waited only a moment for the noise to die down. “As a part of a new initiative for our Muggle Studies program, they have been invited to Hogwarts this year to assist the faculty in various capacities. I shall expect,” and here his voice grew stern, “that you will show them the same respect and courtesy you give to your professors. I would like to remind you that you represent not only your school, but your families and indeed your very world. I anticipate nothing but your best behavior, from all of you.”

“Is he crazy?” Ron demanded. “The Slytherins’ll hex them into next Monday!”

“They are very vulnerable,” Fred frowned, unaccustomedly serious.

“Defenseless,” George agreed, glimmer of a trick in his eye.

“Oh, you two can’t possibly be thinking of pranking them!” Hermione was disgusted.

“What’s the fun of baiting someone who can’t fight back?” Harry added, a little uncomfortable with the idea himself. He didn’t think the twins would be that cruel.

George was truly shocked. “Of course, not, Hermione! It’d be like hurting a little kid. No, Fred and I were just thinking -”

“- if there was some way we could -”

“- head the Slytherins off -”

“- before they make us all look bad.”

“No kidding,” Ron said quietly. “We can’t always be around to look after them.” 

_I guess they’re ‘ours’ now_ , Harry thought wryly. But they seemed to be good people. They’d know more after they met them, of course. But to come to Hogwarts, and be amazed, rather than disgusted by what they saw – _Better people than the Dursleys._ Though that wasn’t exactly hard.  

“Like a preemptive strike?” Hermione was still skeptical.

“Of course not! We’re not looking to start a prank war, here,” Fred was offended.

“Fun as that might be,” George added.

“Innocents in the crossfire is never fun,” his twin corrected.

“Detention,” they chorused. “With _Filch_.”

Harry winced. The worst kind. Unless it was with Snape.

Desert had long since appeared and been eaten, almost thoughtlessly, in the buzz of startled conversation. Students left the Great Hall in drips and drabs, though the teachers remained.

Harry pushed aside his plate and stood, Ron and Hermione coming with him. They left Fred and George plotting, having drawn a good deal of the older Gryffindors into their plans. It wasn’t comforting to see a similar council of war taking place at the Slytherin table, but it was enough to see the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs similarly huddled. They could count on support from those quarters, at least – even if it was silent.

“This isn’t a war.”

Harry didn’t realize that he had spoken aloud until he found Ron and Hermione staring at him. He waved a vague hand back at the Great Hall. “This. It’s not a war, between us and the Slytherins over the Muggles.”

“No, it’s not,” Hermione agreed. A crowd of excited Ravenclaw first-years rushed past. One boy, in the middle of the crowd, was going on about the giant squid. “But just their being here is going to cause all sorts of problems. With the School Governors – Lucius Malfoy in particular.”

The stairs began to shift, and with remembered ease they stood back, plotting their new path back to the dormitories. Some of the first-year Ravenclaws shrieked as stone grated under their feet. “The stairs like to change, remember?” one of them shrilled.

“And Draco, and every other pureblood or Muggle-hater in this school,” Hermione continued. The first-years were fine, traipsing back down the stairs to regroup on the landing. “They can’t even stand Muggle-borns, most of the time. And you saw Malfoy on the train – he’s worse than ever, this year. It must have been difficult for Dumbledore to get permission to have them here.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. You two wouldn’t know, but – even a lot of witches and wizards who don’t hate Muggles are afraid of them. I know it’s crap, but that’s because of my dad. Muggles can be annoying sometimes, and Harry, your relatives are _really_ horrible,” Harry grinned, “but for the most part Muggles are harmless.”

“Well, Fred and George seem to have it in hand,” Hermione added. Marshalling the combined forces of all the fifth, sixth and seventh-year Gryffindors. If he didn’t dislike them so much, Harry might feel sorry for the Slytherins.

“I thought you didn’t trust them,” Ron shot back, a little miffed. “Fortuna Major,” he added, and the Fat Lady swung forward.

“Changed my mind. But what I really want to know is _why_ they’re here in the first place,” Hermione persisted.

“Dumbledore said it was for Muggle Studies,” Harry reminded her. The couch in front of the fire was deep red, and warm. He shifted further down into plush cushions.

Hermione frowned. “It’s an awful lot of trouble to go to just to expose wizarding kids to Muggles. There’s got to be more to it.”

“Well, we’ll probably find out soon enough. We’ve got bigger problems,” Ron reminded her.

“Snape,” they groaned. So much homework already! Two feet on some potion that they weren’t even going to brew until almost the end of term. And another foot on specific potion-making techniques. And then there was some complicated-looking star chart they had to make for Trelawney, and McGonagall wanted a foot-long essay on Animagi. Even Lupin and Flitwick had assigned homework, though it was mostly reading.

And Hermione must have even more, with Arithmancy and Muggle Studies added to the list.

Harry pulled out _Intermediate Tranfiguration_. It dropped to the table with a depressing _thud_. Ron already had out _Unfogging the Future_ and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three_.

“In our first year, did we ever notice that while we didn’t have homework, older students did?” Ron asked morosely.

Hermione sniffed. “You might not have, but I did.”

“Thank you very much,” Ron told her sourly.

Harry looked at the assignment for Snape and groaned. “Look, we have to reference this one book – it’s in the library. And the assignment’s due in two days. We’ll never get it.”

Hermione glanced over. She was tackling Transfiguration first. “Oh, I have that. It’s up in the dorm. Want me to get it?”

“Please,” Harry smiled. _Yes!_ Count on Hermione to have the book already, and be planning on reading it.

“Just don’t let that crazy cat out,” Ron warned. “Scabbers may be up in the dorm, but I don’t trust it. He’s been traumatized enough.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Crookshanks isn’t out to get Scabbers,” she told him. “Cats chase rats. It’s what they do.”

And they were off again. Harry ignored the rest of the conversation, fixed on trying to figure out what in the world McGonagall was asking them to do. He thought he had it just about figured out –

“Crookshanks!”

“Hermione!”

Harry opened one eye carefully. It was large, furry and orange. It was sitting contentedly on the table in front of him, flexing claws deep into wood. Through the assignment on top of it. Which had been inked and furred in the chaos. _Oh, no . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

****_1941_ ** **

* * *

_**(** _ __**Peter)** _ _   


* * *

Lichen, deep green and reliable. Checking the map once more, Peter surveyed the forest a last time.

The darkness that had fallen upon them, on an otherwise sunny day, made the decision for him. “This way.”

“East?”

“I don’t like the looks of that,” he admitted. The forest dead west was dark and foreboding. Whenever the wind turned and pulled a breeze from that direction, the hair on his arms stood up against a chill that didn’t seem wholly natural, and there was some scent on the wind he couldn’t identify.   _I don’t like it._

Edmund’s lip caught between two teeth, and Peter could easily read his brother’s unease. “Me either.”

“We’re closest to the eastern edge. From there we can cut back south to the Mansion, or circle farther north.”

Edmund took the map, brown eyes flickering over the route Peter had outlined. “Do you think they’ll want to go on?”

Laughter trailed like sunshine behind them. Peter turned his eyes from the shadows lurking ahead, checking on his sisters. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t know how, but the forest ahead was wrong. Were there dryads here, they would be screaming warnings to turn away. He could feel it.

“Peter?” Susan’s hand came to rest on his arm. “Why are we turning?” Of course Lucy and Susan noticed the minute their bearing changed. Their wood-skills were honed by years of travel with nothing but the earth and sky to guide them.

“I want to avoid that section of the wood,” he told her. _There is a darkness there too much like –_

“It’s creepy,” Lucy put in, brown eyes wide.

“We’re not far from the eastern edge. And then we can stop, eat, and decide what we want to do.”

Susan nodded slowly, blue eyes never leaving his. “All right, then.”

The trust there would never stop humbling him.

“Hey! You coming?” Edmund shouted back. Shorter legs or not, he was still faster than them. Sometimes.  

“Go on,” he urged his sisters, falling back as rearguard. The danger lay behind them now, and he wanted Edmund up ahead.  

Sunlight bathed them all as the trees became sparse. They emerged into a bright meadow, and Peter held back a relieved sigh. _You should know well enough that the sun was never enough to banish evil for good._ They had been attacked in broad daylight by the Witch, after all. Her grip on the land so strong, that she defied the traditions of every nightmare to walk in day.

But for now, his instincts said they had not attracted the sight of whatever lived in the wood. And he had a feeling that those trees were rife with creatures of evil intent. _But this is Britain, not ! What could possibly be here?_

Nothing. Or at least, nothing that should spur raw instinct to life. But he had been King too long to ignore any warnings he might receive, intangible or not.

The basket that they had all traded off carrying was finally opened, yielding sandwiches, cookies and fruit. The four siblings sprawled in the grass, sunning themselves like cats as they ate.

“That’s one thing in her favor,” Edmund managed through a mouthful of bread and cheese. “The Macready sure can cook.”

Lucy’s head tilted, considering. “Are sandwiches cooking?”

Edmund was easy to please, though. Time enough in Narnia would cure anything. He’d been a bit of a fussy eater when they were younger, as had Susan, but that had vanished sometime after the Battle of Beruna. _Or maybe even before_.

It must be their return to childhood that was dredging up all these memories. He chewed absently on a long piece of grass. Seeing each other the way they had been when they entered Narnia somehow made all his memories clearer. And he hadn’t liked how the shadows falling over his little brother’s face so easily recalled the bruises he’d gathered at the Witch’s hands –

_Pay attention!_ This place might look safe, but that was no guarantee. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard. _But I have no weapons_ , he realized. Rhindon was lost to him now – Narnia kept what it wrought. And he missed its sure, razored weight in his hand.

Still, they were none of them completely defenseless.

“Peter!”

He started at the unexpectedness of hearing his name called across the stillness, jerking upright in the long grass before he registered the laughter in Susan’s voice.

Susan was looking at him oddly. “Were you asleep?”

“No,” he smiled, relief relaxing his limbs. He lay back down, the grass pressed flat with his weight and less of a cushion than it had been when he’d first chosen this spot. _Everything’s fine._ “You just startled me, is all.”

“Time to get a move on,” Edmund was standing over him, shading his face from the sun. A sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead, probably from the pounding sun.

Peter folded his arms under his head, grinning upwards at his brother’s mud-smeared clothes and unable to resist a small jibe. “You’re mighty cheerful for one who fell in a mud puddle, Ed.”

Edmund just smirked right back at him. “And you’re mighty confident for one who’s lying on his back in a flower patch, Peter.”

He grinned, knowing he was vulnerable to being pounced on and that his brother was weighing the possibility of victory. “M’comfortable.”

Edmund blinked, and the gleam in his eye lightened, turning away from the idea of an impromptu wrestling match. He flopped down at Peter’s side. “So, are we going to go on, or what?”

“Do you all want to?” Peter looked to his sisters. Susan had relaxed considerably, and Lucy seemed energetic as ever. Edmund wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to stop, either, despite a slight flush to his face that hinted at a mild sunburn. _And we do have to travel back, as well._ Nods and smiles decided it. “All right then.”

 

 

* * *

********_(Susan)_ ** ** ** **

* * *

 

_What is that?_

Whatever it was, it _wasn’t_ Narnian.

And she didn’t have words for how much that hurt. How her heart had leapt to the hope that they had fallen through an invisible door in the meadow. Fallen back home.

But the lake was too like the lochs she had seen in travel brochures. Too much of Earth.

At her side, Edmund was gaping in wonder and almost bouncing with excitement. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Peter? Su? Lu?”

Susan couldn’t help herself. “How did a castle like that get all the way out here without anyone noticing?”

Lucy looked up from a piece of crumpled paper. “It’s not on your map, Peter.”

Her older brother’s eyes never left the massive construction. “That’s because it wasn’t marked on the map I copied that from, Lu.”

_Something’s wrong._ Castles didn’t just appear out of nowhere. A construction that large would have taken time and effort to build – and it was old. Old enough that any map made within the last several hundred years should have noted it. “We should go.” She ignored the surprise on her siblings’ faces. “If it wasn’t on the map, then people don’t want anyone to know they’re here. Which means they’re doing something they shouldn’t, or they want to be left alone. Let’s go.”

It was Peter who turned to her, as ever. “Su, it’s likely nothing of the sort. The only maps the Professor had were very old.”

Susan pushed her hair back from her face, incredulity and frustration welling up out of nowhere to sharpen her voice. “Older than _that_? Castles just don’t appear out of thin air, Peter!”

“I still think we should check it out.” Peter’s expression was placating, hiding the eagerness underneath and Susan suddenly couldn’t bear it.

“It’s not Narnia, if that’s what you’re looking for.” She didn’t know why she felt she had to say the harsh words. But dammit, it _wasn’t home!_ And there was no magic in the real world. She should know. She’d looked. “It’s not.”

But she’d surprised them all. “I know it’s not,” Peter said carefully. He stepped forward as if he were afraid that she would break if he moved too quickly. “But whatever it is, it’s not like anything we’ve ever seen before. Don’t you think we should at least get a better look? We can turn back if -”

“You always _say_ that,” she whispered, heat building behind her eyes. The wind was soothing against her face, coolly comforting. “But you never _do_.”

“And look at what we’ve found, and done, and seen, because of it.” Their voices were too low for the younger ones to hear, now, and she couldn’t stand the concerned stares any longer.

“And look at where we’ve gotten ourselves! Hurt, almost killed-” His face paled, and she felt a pang of regret. The Battle of Beruna Ford was the one thing that still had the power to wake him, shivering with fear-sweat, in the depths of the night. “In the middle of a war, _again_ , only it’s the same war – cut off from home – what if we never get back, Peter? What if we _never get back!_ ” She buried her face against his shoulder, felt his arms encircle her.

Soft murmured words, then, of understood pain and loss. She was vaguely aware of Lucy and Edmund moving in, of familiar warm bodies pressed against her as she sobbed, offering unquestioning understanding. _Pain shared is pain lessened_. But this ache defied the old maxim, using her tears to settle deeply into her heart, so far down that she knew, she _knew_ , she’d never get it out. And the tears had not washed it away; they had let it in.

 

* * *

****_1993_ ** **

* * *

**_(Lucy)_ **   


* * *

 

“Lu? You alright?”

_Peter_. Grown up, and leaning in the doorway of her room to bid her goodnight.

She managed a smile for him, setting her book aside on the plum-colored coverlet. “Fine. Just – thinking back. You remember the first time we saw Hogwarts?”

One step into the room, he stilled.

She winced. _I’m sorry, Peter._ “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said quietly, moving closer and settling on the edge of her bed. His hands, more used to wielding quill or sword than sitting idle, clenched together briefly. “No, I remember.”

_And it hurts._ Him, more than her or Edmund, even. He’d never told them what exactly had passed between Susan and him before their sister had begun to cry. Lucy sighed – but she’d opened this can of worms, now, and she couldn’t stop until it was done. “Susan was so upset.”

“Yes, she was.”

“She thought we were trying to replace Narnia.” The painful suspicion burst out of her, and was met with a darting glance of surprise from blue eyes.

He shifted, fingers running over the soft covers. “What you have to understand about Susan, Lu, is that of us all, she never. . . got past Narnia, if that makes any sense. She couldn’t let go of the loss. Being told she was too old to come back – it shattered her.”

“But why?” She hoped he couldn’t hear the raw plea in her voice. In the face of half a century of life unchanged, anyone would say that the six year difference between them was nothing. But Peter would always her older brother. And she still wanted him to be able to explain it to her, to make the confusion go away. Edmund teased her, and the two of them got into awful scrapes together, but Peter was always there to make it right.

And she knew that it wasn’t fair to him to keep hold of the illusion, but there were times when she couldn’t help it.

“She was never able to believe deeply enough,” was the answer he gave her.

_What?_ Lucy frowned. _We all believe in Narnia, even Susan – she called it home, for the longest time. Longer than I did after we went back to Mum and Daddy. She only stopped doing that when she stopped talking about it at all._ “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Susan was able to believe in anything, once it proved itself to her.” Peter sighed.  His eyes were distant, the words coming as if he was picking and choosing each one. “But she wasn’t able to believe on her own, without that proof. She needed us there, to believe enough for her as well. By itself, it was never good enough, because she could reason it away. Narnia never had the power to hold her.”

He found a smile somewhere, gave it to her. “I will admit,” he said softly, “for a long time, your faith buoyed me as well.”

She stared. Peter was her brother, and no matter that she knew he had faults, he was still her hero. It was everything that made him her big brother that made him such a wonderful King. But – he had needed her?

“I needed time to find my faith for myself,” he admitted quietly. “And your belief was always so absolute. I leant on it, sometimes, when I couldn’t find my feet. Being told I could never go back was the hardest thing I ever had to hear.”

She understood. “I’m glad I could help you, Peter.” She touched his hand, and he turned it over so that their palms rested together, gripping tight. Lucy leant against him in a half-hug. “Even if I never knew.”

“But why such heavy thoughts, tonight?”

Lips pursed, she hiked a brow at him. “The conversation with Dumbledore.”

Her brother scowled. “So you saw it as well.”

“There’s quite a lot he’s not telling us,” she confirmed, gaze straying out one of the many windows of this tower. The sky had deepened to full night, but the glow of the room and the lights of the castle kept her from glimpsing the stars. _And he wasn’t very subtle about it._ “I wonder how much of it we’ll suffer for not knowing.”

“Such a grim outlook,” he teased.

“I take it you saw this as well, then?” Twisting across her bed, she reached for the nightstand and tossed a copy of the Wizarding paper, _The Daily Prophet_ , at him.

“Ah, yes.” Peter glanced at the feature article, his mouth turning down under his beard.

**BLACK STILL AT LARGE**

Lucy shook her finger at the page, a gesture she knew she’d absorbed from Mum. “And there’s more we’re not being told about _this_ as well. I heard McGonagall talking to Lupin about it, though he really didn’t seem to want to discuss it. But whatever else this Black did, why would he come here?”

Peter frowned at her. “Here?”

She resettled the pillows behind her and leant back against the headboard. “I was under the impression they thought he might be after the student body.”

“Because _that_ makes sense,” snorted a new voice.

“Ed. Catch.”

Peter held out the paper to the younger man as he crossed the room. “Came to see what you two were up to. S’a few weeks old,” Edmund observed. The bed dipped under his added weight, and he stretched onto his stomach, quickly shuffling through the printed pages.

“Going after children is the fastest way to marshal your enemy’s strongest attack,” Peter mused, shifting to one side to give Ed more room. Lucy just propped her feet on his back and wiggled her toes. “Not the smartest thing to do.”

The ribs under her feet grunted in thought. “Pisses ‘em off, too.”

“Edmund!” The protest rose to her lips without conscious thought. She just kept herself from following it with a stern, “Language!” _It must be from being back in a school again, and around so many little ones. I swear I feel like I’m turning into the Macready._  

He dropped the paper on the bed with an unrepentant smile. “It’s true.”

She rolled her eyes. “So what can we do about it?”

“About the fact that Albus Dumbledore’s even more close-mouthed than he was fifty years ago, if that’s even possible, or the fact that the witches and wizards of Hogwarts – students _and_ staff, mind you – think we’re no better than babes?”

“ _Ed_ mund,” she growled. “You are _not_ helping.”

“Time,” Peter overrode them both. “Just a bit of it. To prove that wizards and ‘Muggles’,” his distaste for the term was obvious, “aren’t as different as they all think.” She didn’t blame him. ‘Muggles’? The word didn’t mean anything. And she had no liking for labels.   

“They don’t even think we have brains,” Edmund felt constrained to point out, dislodging her feet as he rolled over. She’d seen that too. Had they thought they were being discreet? _Probably. They are just children._ “They were looking at us like we’re a different species.”

“In your case, they’d be right.”

Lucy giggled.

Edmund lunged at Peter, who ducked away, and in a moment she was witness to one of their periodic battles, much like the one earlier today that had landed them both in the mud.

“Hey! Where did you learn that?” Edmund cried in surprise, as Peter suddenly closed with him, and in a few efficient moves had the younger man pinned on his stomach.

“Yield?”

“I yield, I yield!”

Lucy waited until they were back on their feet once more.

“That looked like _jujutsu_ ,” she commented. The same fluid motions, the speed –

“ _Felt_ like _jujutsu_ ,” Edmund groaned, dusting himself off. “Teach me?”

“’Course.”  

“And me!” No way was she passing up a chance at learning _that_!

“You had to ask, Lu?” Peter grinned.

“Now that you two are done,” she added archly. “Do we have a plan at all?” She kind of hoped so, but –

“Nope,” Edmund said cheerfully. “Not in the slightest.”

She flopped back onto the bed. “Well, tomorrow, I’m going to watch Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures classes. Should be interesting.”

“How is he?” Edmund asked, suddenly serious.

She knew the reason for the change, and smiled to see it. Edmund’s choice to become a counselor for young, troubled children was something that she had rejoiced to see. _He’s come a long way from the White Witch. And now he can reach out to others, and help._ The healing had been slow, but it was solid.

“He’s . . . grown.” That was the best way to describe it, really. The Hagrid they had met had been an eager first-year student, as yet untouched by the darker sides of life. “He was expelled,” she murmured, wincing at the still-painful revelation that had come out over dinner. “In his third year. But neither he nor Dumbledore wants to talk about it.” Meaning that it probably had something to do with Tom, on top of being a horrid experience.

Edmund’s brows rose. “I’ll make some time to talk to him, then.”

She perked up. _That would be wonderful._ “Would you, Edmund? It would mean a lot to him.”

“Then how can I refuse?”

She bore the hair-ruffling and smug grin with resigned acceptance. Behind her back, however, she tightened her grip on the pillowcase and prepared for the moment Edmund sat back with a superior grin. As soon as he did, she whacked the stiff pillow straight into it. 

“Oof!”

“Good reflexes,” Peter commented approvingly. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Lucy plumped the pillow smugly, before replacing it behind her back.

“Doing anything tomorrow?” Peter prompted the brother sprawled across the foot of her bed.

Edmund opened one eye lazily. “I’m to meet Madam Pomfrey, the nurse. She wants me to find and speak to several of her students. Some of the Muggle-borns are experiencing a bit of extreme culture shock on top of homesickness. There’s also a few special cases she wants me to make time for. One young man who’s been effectively orphaned; his parents were tortured to insanity when he was an infant. Another boy, an orphan, who’s living with relatives who, from all accounts, should be charged with negligence and locked away. A bunch that I think Dumbledore wants to try to save from falling to Voldemort. Some other cases as well, of a more sensitive nature.”

_Abuse, then_ , Lucy thought soberly. The world was rarely a kind place.

“And incidentally, you’re both leaving me stuck as the ‘Muggle Studies’ representative of the day. Ugh. But it sounds like a full day for you both,” her oldest brother commented.

_And now, comes the_ -

“I think it’s time for bed,” Edmund and Lucy chorused, matching Peter word for word.

He grinned sheepishly. “It’s late.”

“I know, I know,” Edmund groused.

She kissed her brothers goodnight, and they headed for their rooms. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day, indeed. She wriggled under the covers, pleasantly surprised to find them cool in the early-fall warmth.

Peter paused in the doorway. “Lu. We _will_ get back. Even if it’s not until the day we finally leave this world for good. And until then -”

She grinned. “It’s just another adventure.”

* * *

**_(Hermione)_**  

* * *

 

Oh, she was going to be _late_ , and all because she didn’t _quite_ have this whole Time-Turner mess down just yet . . . It was enough to make her want to scream, loudly, into the nearest handy pillow. Unfortunately, she’d have to settle for plowing her way through this crowd of second-years – what _were_ they all doing standing around in the corridor like this? Didn’t they realize that they were blocking the hall?

Pushing past a gaping Hufflepuff, Hermione set her eyes on her goal. If she could just get past this last group to the arch, there’d like as not be a clear run to one of the stairwells. She _liked_ Arithmancy, she didn’t want to be _late_ -

“Watch it!” snapped a familiar voice.

Draco. Malfoy. _Ugh_. But he wasn’t talking to her.

And then she managed to breach the ring of younger students who were waffling about in confusion. Hermione pulled up short.

“Are you all right?” came an unfamiliar voice. The surprise wasn’t that it was adult and male, but that it was actually speaking kindly to Malfoy. _Oh, no. It’s one of the Muggles. And no students here past the third year. Fred, George, I’m_ going _to have a talk with you about this. So much for your ‘Muggle Protection Plan’._

“My stuff isn’t. Why don’t you watch where you’re going!”

Hermione clenched her teeth. _You git, Malfoy!_

The students went silent. The blond man straightened, holding the last of Draco’s belongings. Sharp blue eyes raked the boy over.

“So,” he said quietly. “You are Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

Draco was clearly surprised. So was everyone else. Hermione’s eyes narrowed. _Who are these people, really? How does he know -_

“What’s it to you?” Malfoy actually sounded a bit unsettled. Oh, she was definitely going to be late to class – but she wouldn’t miss this for the world!

The blond man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and handed Malfoy’s books to him. “I’ve met your father.”

Hermione almost snickered. _And he obviously wasn’t thrilled by the experience._

“I can’t say I think he’d be pleased to see the way his son comports himself in front of his peers.” The Muggle’s voice was bland, mild even. But the words weren’t. Malfoy, being talked down to by a non-wizard? This was too good to be true!

It didn’t take Draco long to recover. “What do you know, you filthy Muggle!”

The blond man’s gaze went icy. “I am going to have to ask you not to use that term in my hearing again,” he said evenly.

“What are you going to do about it?” Draco pressed, toying with the handle of his wand. But he didn’t – _quite_ – meet the man’s gaze.

“I’m going to remind you,” and the man’s voice was very soft, “that I am _not_ a professor at this school, or even another student. And thus there are no limits on the lengths I may take to uphold my honor, or that of my brother and sister. You are from a pureblood family, Draco – surely you understand what that means.”

Hermione was intrigued. _Is he actually threatening Malfoy?_

The man paused, reevaluating the paling boy in front of him. “Despite the fact that you _are_ just a child.”

She bit back a laugh. _Oh, this is_ good _!_

Draco flushed horribly. _Harry and Ron will never believe this . . . I had no idea Draco turned so bright red!_ The fair-skinned boy was fast working past the momentary embarrassment. Malfoy opened his mouth -

“When you write home next, tell your father that Peter Pevensie says hello. I’m _certain_ he’ll recognize the name.”

The man – Peter – turned his back on the sputtering boy, students rushing out of his way.

Draco’s wand came up.

“Look out!” Hermione shrieked. He turned - too late.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

Red shot through the air.

_Oh, God, he’s going to -_

And fizzled out of existence.

_What?! Where did it – spells just don’t disappear!_

The hallway froze, everyone searching for the person taken out by Draco’s spell. But it hadn’t missed, or ricocheted. It had vanished. _That’s not possible!_ Everything she had learned about magic in the last two years told her that couldn’t happen. _It’s magic! Energy! It has to go somewhere!_

Peter Pevensie was untouched. “Are you quite finished testing my patience, young Malfoy?”

A wave rippled through the students across from her, pushing them aside as an authoritative voice shattered the sudden silence. “Draco Malfoy!”

The Slytherin froze, and Hermione bit down on a laugh as she recognized her Head of House.

McGonagall’s face was tight, lips thinned and voice severe. “ _What_ is going on here?”

“Professor McGonagall,” Peter Pevensie greeted her courteously.

“Throwing hexes in the halls!” McGonagall was furious. “And at a -” she cut herself off.

“At a defenseless Muggle?” the man asked with a quiet, and somewhat wicked, smile. “I leave this situation in your capable hands, Professor. I have no call to demand satisfaction from young Malfoy here. Yet.” And he turned on his heel, and left.

McGonagall leveled a thunderous expression on the blond-haired boy. “You,” she bit out. “Come with me. I believe the Headmaster will want to see you.”

At the explosion of chatter that followed her statement, McGonagall glared impartially about the hall. “All of you, to class. Now!”

Hermione slipped through the scattering of students, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. _Wait till Harry and Ron hear about this!_

* * *

**_(Draco)_**  

* * *

 

“I am very disappointed in you, Draco.”

_Yeah? Am I supposed to care?_ Funnily enough, he did. Father might say that Albus Dumbledore was a doddering old fool, and Draco mostly agreed, but there was no denying the man had power. And, for no reason at all, he was _kind_ to Draco. He couldn’t understand it.

And anything he couldn’t understand made him wary. _So I’ll watch what he does and how he thinks of me until I find out what his_ real _game is._

“I don’t know if you understand the amount of trouble you could have gotten into,” the Headmaster mused. He was chewing on one of those dumb Muggle candies. A lemon-drop. Whatever that was.

“He insulted me, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore lifted a bushy white brow. “But not before you insulted him.”

“He ran into me, knocked me and my stuff all over!”

At that, the Headmaster _laughed_. Draco blinked. He was laughing? Why was he laughing?

Draco smothered the urge to glower at him. And now, he was missing class, all because of that stupid Muggle. At least it was only History of Magic. He _really_ didn’t need to see Potty, the Weasel, and Granger right now. Not to mention McGonagall. Who was waiting outside the office to escort him back. _Great. Just – just great._  

“Accidents _do_ happen, Draco.” Dumbledore paused, sucking the candy. “Maybe you don’t understand, at that.”

_Huh?_ Normally he wouldn’t let his attention wander in front of the Headmaster, but he’d never been in the man’s office before, and there was some _interesting_ stuff here. If he could only get his hand on –

“One hundred points, I think, from Slytherin.”

“ _What?!_ ”

He’d lost points from his house before – for foolishly going after those stupid Gryffindors, but at least he’d gotten the satisfaction of having that dragon sent away. What did that half-giant fool think he was doing, anyway?

But _one hundred points!_ “Headmaster -”

Dumbledore cut him off. “You may believe that we only have rules so that students like you can break them, Draco, but I assure you that is not the case.”

He fought back a blush. He _knew_ that. Rules were important. But some were more important than others, especially if the ‘others’ didn’t make sense.

“I asked the students to treat our guests with courtesy. Not for their sake, but for yours. Draco, have you ever heard the term ‘ _Aegis Sanguinis_ ’?”

“Who cares about some stupid Mu-” he caught himself just in time.

Blue eyes narrowed. “It is not a Muggle term. I suggest you look it up.” Dumbledore’s voice was very calm. Draco took a deep breath. Like Father, before – “In fact, it is considered one of the oldest Wizarding magics known. But it is never invoked. You see, no wizard today has the power.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Draco scoffed.

“Power is not just a thing of raw magic, Draco. I am sure you can understand this; your own Head of Slytherin House is one of the most powerful potions-masters in the world. That does not require the use of a wand, and it is not magic as some would strictly consider it, but you would not deny that Professor Snape has power.”

He nodded slowly. Snape was the epitome of Slytherin cunning. None could say their Head of House was not formidable, even though he favored potions-making to wand-waving.

“This is a power granted only to a select few, Draco. It is not something you can learn or even be taught. And while it may be one of the oldest known Wizarding magics, it has never been granted to a witch or wizard.”

“Perhaps the right wizard hasn’t come along yet,” Draco sneered. That couldn’t be right. A power not granted to wizards? Father was right, the Muggle-lover’s brain was addled.

But the Headmaster smiled at him. “You saw for yourself what your spell did – or should I rather say, _didn’t_ do to Mr. Pevensie.”

“It was a trick of the light.” And he would stick to that story, no matter what. “You put protections on them, because they’re Mu- Muggles.”

“I did not.”

_Yea, right. And if you believe that, I’ve got some nice real estate in Azkaban to sell you . . . the bars are so lovely this time of year, and the Dementors only come out at night . . ._

“I believe you would be well served by a week of detention with Professor McGonagall as well.”  

That wasn’t so bad. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d probably just lost Slytherin the House Cup for the year.

“And I believe you have a free period in your schedule on Thursday afternoons?”

Slated for Quidditch practice right now, but Flint was pushing to move it to Tuesdays, which would really make his life hell since he had Charms on Wednesdays. Mother insisted that hating a class was no reason not to do well in it. He’d pleaded, but when Father agreed, he knew he’d lost. It was his hide next summer if he got any less than perfect marks. Christmas holiday wouldn’t be pleasant either. “Yes.”

“I’d like you to keep that time free. For the rest of the year.”

_What the – he can’t possibly be serious!_ “Headmaster?”

“I’ve decided that you’ll be working with Edmund Pevensie during that hour.”

“The _counselor_?” Draco repeated numbly. _The_ Muggle _counselor? This is not happening . . ._ Dumbledore couldn’t have devised a better torture if he’d tried. Much as Draco would love to attribute malicious intent to the old man, he knew the decrepit fool was just doing what he thought best. Whatever little that was worth.

And there was _nothing_ he could _do_ about it!

He was a little reassured by the fact that bad as this was, it would be much worse if the man hated him. And the only people Dumbledore actively disliked, rumor had it, were Grindelwald, Vol – the Dark Lord, and Fudge. Though why the Minister of Magic ranked on there at all was a mystery to him. Father despised Fudge, too, but had rejoiced when he’d been elected. _‘We have the freedom, finally, with that moron in office,_ ’ he’d said.

But there was one thing that was _really_ bothering him. “All year?”

“I am going light on you, Draco.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “You were very lucky, though you do not yet realize it. You only insulted Peter. Should you be so foolish as to do the same to his brother and sister, he would avenge himself to the fullest extent upon you.”

“What’s he gonna do?” Draco couldn’t believe it. The man was a _Muggle_ , for Slytherin’s sake!

“He would take the right of first blood from you. But since you are a child, he would probably not take your life.”

* * *

**_(Remus)_  **

* * *

 

The staff room was blessedly quiet after three days of constant children’s chatter. _Not that I mind the noise._ But he’d been living alone, mostly out of contact with people, for the last twelve years. It was . . . disconcerting, to have to get used to a large crowd of people. _If only Lily and James and Peter had lived. It wouldn’t have been like that. If only Sirius hadn’t –_

Bitterness welled up, choking the thought to death. Remus took a deep breath, and in that moment, the door swung open behind him.

“ – tried to _hex_ you?” A concerned woman’s voice, one that was barely familiar.

“Lucius Malfoy’s kid?” A man. He didn’t recognize either of them, and hidden in this chair, pulled close to the fireplace, he couldn’t see who they were either.

A snicker reached his ears. “Like father, like son.”

“Yes, well -” Despite his calm, the second man sounded vaguely embarrassed. Oh. _The Muggles_. Remus hadn’t been exactly avoiding them. He was just busy. And the rest of the staff had no need to be more than professionally courteous towards their newest addition. He hadn’t yet decided if he was grateful for it.

“One week. Just one!” The woman gave an exasperated huff. “Some of the Ravenclaw second-years said that you threatened to call him out. You didn’t – Peter!”

“I wouldn’t have done it, Lu. He’s only a child.”

The first man snorted. “If he’s anything like his father, it’s about time someone put the fear of Aslan into him.”

_Aslan?_ The word felt comfortably warm in his mind. _Strange . . ._ But pleasant nonetheless.

“Edmund!”

The man with the calm voice broke in. “He is. . . very like his father. But I’m afraid, Ed, that you’ll be left with the fallout on this.”

The noise of a body throwing itself onto the purple couch. A deep sigh. “Yes, I already heard. Dumbledore wants me to work with him weekly. All year.”

“If you need my help -”

“Or mine,” the woman added.           

“I know.” Remus recognized the hard-won maturity in that voice. He felt very awkward. They obviously didn’t know he was here – _And they think they’re alone. Why can’t the floor open up and swallow me right now?_ Though at Hogwarts, it just might happen. _But I’m not that lucky._

“Dumbledore wanted me to work with him anyway,” the man continued thoughtfully. Cloth rustled against cushions as they made themselves comfortable. Remus shifted slightly, knowing his faint noises would be lost under theirs, and wishing he hadn’t pulled the winged-back chair so close to the banked fire. “There’s a list of high-risk students, compiled by their teachers. Because of his upbringing, his family, his House -”

A noise of feminine disgust interrupted. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. A student’s House is a reflection only of the most dominant aspect of their personality. It doesn’t determine _who_ they are, or what they will be. Because Slytherins are cunning and ambitious doesn’t mean they’re all doomed to be Death Eaters.”

Remus felt his eyes widen. _What are these people?_

“And it doesn’t mean that no one from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor won’t turn to Voldemort,” she finished.

He sucked in a breath. That . . . _hurt_ . . .

“They’re children,” the man named Peter objected.

Edmund’s voice was hard. “That means nothing, Peter.”

“Ed.” The woman, almost whispering. “Don’t.”

He _really_ shouldn’t be hearing this. He twitched uncomfortably – and the chair squeaked. Oh, _damn_. Sudden silence behind him. Nothing for it.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but who -”

Remus grimaced, and assumed a polite expression as he stood. _Double damn._  

“Remus Lupin?” The woman stood, coming forward to shake his hand. “I’m Lucy Pevensie.” She was quite lovely, but he felt awkward. He couldn’t remember the last time he had touched another person. Twelve years . . .

_Werewolf_.

In the Wizarding world, it was impossible to hide. And even more impossible to find a job.

“Edmund Pevensie.” He shook Remus’ hand as well. “You’re the -”

All the professors knew, just in case. “Werewolf. Yes.”

But Edmund didn’t drop his hand like he was contaminated from just breathing the same air. “Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

_Oh. Damn._ He’d really forgotten how to interact with anyone but students. This was . . . well, Remus was used to being embarrassed. It happened irritatingly often. “Yes.”

The third came forward. “I’m Peter Pevensie. Pleased to meet you.” So startlingly different from the last Peter he had known. He couldn’t help but look the man over once more, unobtrusively. No, he wasn’t reminded of Wormtail at all. But . . . James had had something this man possessed. And Sirius as well, before –

“We’ve been trying to find you,” the woman, Lucy, told him.

“I’m sorry.” He was a little befuddled. “Beginning of term is -”

“Hell,” Edmund nodded.

Remus smiled, a little.  “Close enough.”

Lucy grinned brightly back at him. “So far, you’re the only one of the staff we haven’t managed to corner.”

“Lu,” Peter laughed. He probably saw the wary look on Lupin’s face. The woman _was_ a veterinarian, after all. He had a fair idea what _that_ meant. _No thank you!_ “It’s nothing like what you’re probably thinking,” he assured the other man. Remus found himself reflected in keen blue eyes, but the eldest of the Pevensies seemed to approve of what he saw. What that might be, Remus had no idea.

“Of course.” Whatever he was supposed to say to that.

Edmund laughed, settling himself. Remus hesitantly turned his chair, and sat.

“Have you been teaching at Hogwarts long?” Lucy.

He shook his head. “No. This is my first year, in fact. And probably my last.”

They were startled. “What? Why?” Edmund asked.

Remus shrugged, fingers probing a weak seam. Stuffing poked out of the chair arm. “The students have a rumor that the Dark Arts position is cursed. It _is_ true that no one individual has held the position for more than a year since the 1950’s.” It would be amusing, actually, and the Marauders had found it so, if it didn’t mean that he would be out on his ear after only a few months.

“Creepy.”

“Lucy.”

“Well, it is, Peter,” Edmund backed her up.

The blond man rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is that’s put you two in this mood, I hope it goes away. Quickly.”

“You started it,” Edmund pointed out.

“How?”

“You picked a fight with a thirteen-year-old.”

“I did not!”

Remus stared. “Draco Malfoy?” he managed.

They suddenly remembered their audience. Peter flushed. “Ah, yes. We’ve met.” A mischievous grin was turned on him, and Remus grew immediately wary. _The last time I saw a smile like that, Sirius was trying to convince us to dip Filch’s cat in peanut butter._ The Muggle concoction had been in Zonko’s, and James had discovered it. Then Sirius had charmed it.

“I think it’s best to warn you now – half the students who were there will probably be clamoring at you on Monday to try to find out what protective spells Dumbledore put on us.”

“What did he try to use? Malfoy?” Remus couldn’t help but gape. _I’d thought the boy was more intelligent than that. ‘Pride cometh before a fall’ . . ._

“Stupefaction curse.”

He could think of several counters, easily. But not one that didn’t require a wand to use, and could be placed as a shield on another person for an extensive period of time.

“What protections _did_ Dumbledore put on you?” He had a few ideas, but they were esoteric magic and he’d have to look them up to be sure . . .

The three looked at one another for a long moment. “Since you’re the first to ask,” Peter said quietly. “Nothing.”

A few pieces slipped into place. “You’re not Muggles, are you?” He was sure of it, didn’t need the confirming nods. “But you’re not wizards either.”

“No,” Lucy said softly.

“But I think we should leave it at that for now.” Whatever else they might be, they were family. And they followed Peter’s lead.

He needed some time to think about this, anyway.

“Professor Lupin?”

“Remus,” he said firmly.

Edmund grinned. “Since you’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, we wanted to ask you something.” He gave his siblings a wry look. “I think we might have actually gotten lucky. You seem to be the only member of the faculty that doesn’t have a problem talking to us.” Ah. Yes, he knew what _that_ felt like.

Edmund handed him a newspaper, and he caught a flash of the headline. **BLACK STILL AT LARGE**. It was an old article. He stifled a wince. _God, Padfoot._ He really thought he’d gotten over this. But it appeared it was easier to forget pain than deal with it. Even the anger had drained away, after a time. Leaving him alone, with the hurt. _Alone . . . and it hurts so much. Prongs, Wormtail – Padfoot!_

“Remus?” Concerned blue eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He brushed it off, folding the paper tightly. “What did you want to know?”

Peter looked to Lucy.

“There’s a lot we don’t know about the Wizarding world,” the auburn-haired woman told him. That wasn’t a surprise. Whatever they were, they’d passed as Muggles all their lives. “We want to know exactly who Sirius Black is. Why he’s so feared – and not that rubbish about the curse and thirteen people dead. We know there’s more to it than that. And why does Dumbledore think he might come here?”

Hard questions. Remus thought Albus should have answered them. And the Headmaster hadn’t. _Why not?_ Whatever the reason, he was left to deal with it.

“Sirius Black,” he said softly. The only place to start was at the beginning, he supposed. “He was born in 1959, to Orion and Walburga Black. His family is one of the Darkest pureblood lineages in the Wizarding world. _Tojours Pur._ ” Remus almost sneered it. Took a deep breath. “ _Always Pure_.”

If he just kept his voice calm, and told himself he was teaching, he could get through every painful detail. He turned his gaze away to stare unblinking into banked coals. “His parents were followers of Voldemort, and before his death, Black’s younger brother Regulus was a Death Eater as well. In all their line, I know of only three Blacks who were ever brave enough to go against their heritage. Alphard Black, Sirius Black’s uncle, and his cousin, Andromeda Black Tonks. The world thought that Sirius had as well.”

He had to change the subject, only for a moment. “Andromeda’s sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange, who is insane,” he said frankly. The weak seam gave under his restless fingers. Nails dug into soft padding. “She is in Azkaban now, but has always been one of the most loyal of Voldemort’s followers. And Narcissa Malfoy.” He allowed himself a thin smile. “Draco’s mother. Andromeda herself married a Muggle, Ted Tonks. As far as I know, she’s been happily uninvolved in the Wizarding world for years now.

“Alphard, Andromeda, and Sirius angered their family so much that they were removed from the family tree – but that didn’t happen until later. When Sirius came to Hogwarts in 1970, he was sorted into Gryffindor. It surprised a lot of people – his family not least of all, I imagine.”

The Blacks had been horrified, and later, disgusted. “That seemed to be just the beginning. When he was sixteen, Black left his home and was disowned. He had become good friends with James Potter, and went to live there for the short time he had left before graduation.” Knuckles clenched white on the chair-arm.

“After that, he entered the Aurors – something akin to the Muggle police force. During this time, Voldemort was on the rise.” _And there were killings upon killings. We thought our world was at an end._  “It was a Dark time.” And there was little more he could say about that. Oh, but he wanted to be done with this!

“To oppose Voldemort, certain members of the Wizarding world formed the Order of the Phoenix, of which Black was a member. It came to the attention of the Order, and Voldemort, that a prophecy had been made predicting Voldemort’s downfall.”

He shook his head, eyes on smoldering heat. “I’ve never put much faith in divination. But apparently Voldemort did. I never heard the prophecy, though Dumbledore probably has. But whatever it said led Voldemort to believe that a child born near the end of July in 1980, to parents who had thrice defied him, would bring about his ultimate destruction.”

He risked a glance up. Lucy’s face was pale, and Edmund’s eyes glittered. Peter’s face was set. He looked back to the hearth. “There were two boys who fit the description. Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter.”

Just a moment, to collect himself. _Just a moment_.

“Ah.” Edmund glanced at his brother, some understanding passing between them. Peter had settled an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, gathering her close. His other hand was resting on Edmund’s shoulder.

“I take it you know the fates of the Longbottoms and the Potters,” he said softly. A coal sputtered to blackness at his foot.

“Dumbledore wants me to speak with Harry and Neville, yes,” Edmund answered.

“Yes. Well. There’s more, unfortunately.” And now came the hardest part. “The Potters knew that Voldemort was after their son. So they enacted an ancient enchantment, the Fidelius Charm. In essence, it hides a piece of information within the soul of someone chosen as Secret-Keeper. Unless the Secret-Keeper chooses to reveal that information, there is no way for it to be discovered.

“Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper. And he gave them over to Voldemort.” His eyes slipped closed, and he heard a harsh gasp from the couch. _Sirius! God, how could you! James, Lily, Peter – you destroyed everything and everyone who ever loved you. Including me._

“He was captured, after the incident referred to in that article.” He couldn’t stand to see the picture. “Black was locked in Azkaban for twelve years, until he became the first individual to ever escape, this summer. McGonagall and Dumbledore think that he’s after Harry Potter.”

A new pain, when he’d thought he couldn’t feel any more. Remus somehow managed a shrug. “Being near Dementors too long robs witches and wizards of their power, and their sanity. He’s definitely unbalanced. There were reports from the prison guards that he would mutter in his sleep ‘He’s at Hogwarts’. Who else could he be referring to?”

There was no response from the three seated across from him.

“The Wizarding world fears him because he was – is – an extraordinarily powerful wizard. Because he fooled so many, for so long, and delivered the hope of our world up for destruction. Voldemort’s defeat was a miracle.

“As for who Sirius Black was -” Remus’s attention was held fast by the last of dying embers. “He was one of my best friends.”

* * *

**_(Harry)_**  

* * *

 

“What am I doing here?” _Smooth move, Potter. Could you possibly be a little more childish?_ But the silence was really getting to him.

Edmund Pevensie just looked at him from across a cluttered desk. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

_What kind of an answer is that?_ But it was his only free time on Monday, and Dumbledore had asked him, so -

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. It could be worse. He could be working on his Potions assignment. _I_ should _be working on the Potions assignment,_ he thought glumly. But that was Hermione talking. Why his conscience used her voice, he didn’t want to know. He still had two whole days before it was due. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if he’d started. But there was more than enough time. _Think about it later._

“From what I’ve heard from the Headmaster and your teachers, you’re an orphan, Harry?”

“Yes.” It was easy to say. _Oh, I really don’t want to talk about this. Don’t tell me he’s going to bring up the –_

“You live with your mother’s sister and her family in Little Whinging? The Dursleys?”

“Yes.” _And I don’t even want to_ think _about them. Can we change the subject? Please?_

Edmund shrugged, brown eyes kind. “No one’s ever talked to you about what happened, have they? There’s a lot you should know, about your rights as a ward of the government – Muggle and Magical.” His voice was soft, gentle. Harry was out of the habit of expecting that from people. “And the Headmaster thought it might be good for you. That’s why you’re here.”

“But I don’t even know you,” he protested. _I think I’d definitely rather be working on Potions._

“Sometimes that can help.”

Harry’s shoe really was very interesting, with that stain from the mud that was a remnant of the season’s first Quidditch practice. “I never knew them.” What? When had he decided to open his mouth and – “It shouldn’t make any difference. I was only a year old when they died.”

“It’s okay that it hurts, Harry.”

_He sounds like he knows._ But that didn’t matter. The man was listening, and he’d promised not to judge - “Yeah.” He swallowed. His throat was tight. Maybe he needed to drink more juice in the morning, or something. “My best friend. Ron Weasley.” It came out in a rush. “He’s got loads of older brothers, even a little sister, and parents, and they don’t have a lot of money, but - ” He couldn’t go on. “They’re happy,” he whispered.

“You’re jealous?”

And he really couldn’t meet those kind eyes. “Yes.” _I’m a flobberworm. Stupid, and -_ He kicked out at the desk leg, angry. “I mean, it’s just life, right? These things happen. Some people get families, and some people don’t. I’m not the only kid without parents, here.”

“No, you’re not.”

So kind. Like he actually cared. Harry talked to Hermione and Ron, but it wasn’t the same as talking to an adult. There was the hope that if he just told someone, a grown-up, they could make it alright. “They died protecting me.”

The shoe was blurry, now – had he gotten hit by the Conjunctivitis curse? His eyes were burning. “They died to save me. Voldemort came after them because of _me_. And he’s still out there, somewhere, and everyone always looks at me like I’m supposed to save the whole world, and _I don’t know what to do!_ ”

He looked out the window. What he wouldn’t give for a broomstick, now –to just get out of here and up in the clouds. He blinked. His eyes were wet.

A soft scraping noise. Edmund had stood, and was waiting by the door.

Harry stared at him in confusion. _What – I’m supposed to stay here for an hour –_

“C’mon,” Edmund said with an easy smile. “What say we go outside?”

_Clang!_

_You have got to be joking!_ Harry stared. He’d only just met Edmund, but he’d heard about the man’s older brother from Hermione. Even knowing how Peter Pevensie had verbally gutted Malfoy didn’t prepare him for _this_.

“ _En guarde!_ ” Edmund shouted, picking up a nearby broadsword.

_Is he crazy?_ The blond man had been quietly practicing, moving in what had looked like a dance. The blade whirled in a silver blur – too fast to see, and even more deadly.

But at the cry, blue eyes snapped open, and he met his brother’s controlled charge in a clash of metal.

Harry picked his jaw off the grass. The two men were fighting in earnest, and he clapped hands over his ears. Three yards away, the noise of steel-on-steel was _loud_.

_They’re good_. He didn’t need to know anything about sword-fighting to see that. In the midst of exchanging blows, Edmund’s foot slipped. For a wild moment Harry was _sure_ he would be impaled as he fell, but somehow the blades twisted out of the way.

He raced over. “Are you alright?”

The blond man placed the weapons on the grass. “Know the ground, Ed.”

Accepting the hand, Edmund let his brother pull him up. “I’m out of practice. It’s not my fault a counselor doesn’t get as much time off as a profiler.”

Peter snorted. “I’ll have to remedy that.”

“Uh-oh,” Edmund muttered.

His brother smirked.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my brother, Peter Pevensie,” Edmund introduced them. “Peter, this is Harry Potter.”

“How do you do?” The man had a very strong grip. _Ow!_

Peter smiled at him, fingers immediately loosening at his wince. “Quite well, thank you, Harry. And how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Edmund smiled at them both. “Harry, I asked Peter if he had any time today. I think that he would be the best person to speak with you.”

What? Was he just dumping him off, then? Harry’s face flushed. _Could this get any worse –_

A soothing hand found his shoulder, and he looked up into deep brown eyes. “I’m not abandoning you here, Harry,” came the gentle voice. Edmund looked very concerned. “Peter has gone through something like what you’re experiencing right now, and I think he’d be the best person for you to talk to. But that’s only for today, and only if you want to.”

“What do you mean?” _Something like what I’m going through? I don’t think so!_

Edmund’s voice was low, and he glanced over his shoulder. Peter had moved away, giving them room. “Peter found himself in a situation where everything he knew was turned inside out. A bit like getting your acceptance to Hogwarts?”

Harry had to smile. His whole world had been upturned, and all for the better. _Except for Voldemort killing my parents because I’m supposed to be some hero. And the Death Eaters. And Snape. I could live without Malfoy, too. But other than that -_ “Yeah.”

Edmund nodded. “People we didn’t even know were looking to Peter to lead them, to fight against an enemy like nothing he’d ever encountered before. And we needed him to save us, as well.” For a moment brown eyes turned dark.

_Really?_ Harry pushed up his glasses. It couldn’t hurt, he supposed. “All right.”

Fingers squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week, in my office, Harry?”

He nodded.

He walked over to Peter so he wouldn’t have to watch Edmund leave. “Mr. Pevensie?”

The blond looked up with a low chuckle. “There are two of us, Harry. We’d all be better off if you just called me ‘Peter’.”

“All right.” Harry stopped. _Great. Now what do I –_

“Here.” And Peter was handing him a broadsword. Harry gripped the handle uncertainly.

The next thing he knew, the man was walking around him, adjusting his stance with calloused hands and a few quiet words. “Not bad,” was the final pronouncement. A slight frown as Peter studied him. “Take off those outer robes. And your shoes. You might want to get rid of the sweater and tie, as well.”

Puzzled, Harry removed the offending items and was left standing in trousers and shirt, much like Peter.

“Better. _En guarde._ ”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he fumbled for the stance he’d just been shown. Why hadn’t Peter told him to take off the robes _before_ showing him what to do?

“Relax, Harry. I’m not going to attack you.”

He later thought it was the most physically taxing half-hour of his life to date. Peter was a good teacher, always willing to demonstrate, kind, but relentless. By the time he said, “I think that’s enough,” Harry was dripping sweat and it felt like every muscle he had was aching. As if Quidditch weren’t enough, he was now taking up the broadsword?

_Proof, if Malfoy needed any, that Voldemort’s curse messed more with my head than a scar could explain._

Peter joined him on the grass, wiping down the blades with a soft cloth.

“Edmund said – that you know what I’m going through,” Harry said hesitantly.

Peter placed the weapon down and smiled. “Not quite.”

“Oh.” His stomach plummeted. He should have known it was too good to be true.

“Harry.” He lifted his eyes in automatic response to the firm command.

“Good.” Peter smiled. “I don’t know what you’re going through. No one in the world can know what you’re going through, I think. I know that doesn’t help you to hear.” Peter looked away. “But I have been through something similar to what you face, yes.”

“Would you tell me?”

Peter smiled. “You grew up with your Muggle relatives, so I believe you’ll understand when I talk about World War II?”

Harry nodded, the sun hot on his back where he sat in he grass.

The blond man stretched out, leaning on his elbows, and began to speak. “When the bombing of London began in 1941, our mother was afraid for us. There was a government initiative that shipped children from the city out of the immediate danger zones, off to the country, for however long the bombing was to last. She didn’t want to break up our family, but one night, the bombs fell too close. So she registered us, and less than a week later we took a train to stay with Professor Digory Kirke, in a Mansion not far from here. . . .”


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

****_1941_ ** **

* * *

****_(Susan)_ ** **

* * *

She should’ve known he’d find her.

The glass at her side was warm with morning sunshine, and dust flavored each breath that passed her lips. Her brothers and sister had vanished outside immediately after breakfast with joyful shouts. Susan had taken one look at the sun, somehow duller than the light back home, and shivered with unease. She’d been meaning to finish her book today anyway. 

Peter was always the one who came looking. Sometimes Edmund or Lucy would get curious – but she was supposed to look after them, not the other way around. She’d long ago figured out how to hide so that they wouldn’t find her.

But she hadn’t yet managed to outwit Peter. Through either intuition or sheer stubbornness, he usually showed up sooner or later. _How does he always know?_ It was the deepest comfort she had, knowing that there was nowhere on this Earth she could go, without her big brother discovering where she was.

So when the door to the spare room opened, she looked up from her curl on the window-seat, and the book she’d made off with.

“Here you are.”

There was no disguising the relief in his too-young face. Remorse clawed at her, and she closed the book around the finger marking her page. “You didn’t need to worry, Peter.” _But I suppose you always will_.

It was a comfort, true, but it could be . . . suffocating.

He didn’t answer, crossing the room to lean beside her. The blond head turned, eyes lingering on the wardrobe. She kept her back to it.

_Whatever possessed us to go after that white stag in the first place?_

No longer kings and queens.

_But Aslan said –_

She wasn’t going to think about it.

“What are you doing here?” Peter seemed mesmerized by the wardrobe, and a shock of anger filled her. Deep mahogany, darkly stained and wondrously carved. It looked as if it should be hiding a treasure deep within, but the only things inside were fur coats and mothballs. _And broken promises._

Her silence caught his attention, drawing it away from the wardrobe.

Susan took a deep breath and let her anger go. When she spoke, her voice was mild. “Reading.”

“ _Great Expectations_?” Peter peered at the well-worn cover.

She handed it over. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, really. I know you don’t care much for Dickens, but -”

“Susan.” Peter wasn’t looking at the book; instead, his gaze was firmly fixed on hers.

Dark hair hid her flinch, before her brother reached out and tucked the loose strands behind her ear. She knew her tears had the power to move him – and so she never let him see her cry.

“Su?”

She gulped back a sob. _I want to go home!_ “I - I miss it. So much, Peter!”

Strong arms curled around her, but she didn’t feel safe. Peter was practically the same size as she was, everything in his hug reminding her where and what they weren’t. _Stranded. But at least I’m not alone . . ._ She had her family. She was never alone. But oh, it felt like it sometimes! _How do they not feel what I feel?_

Peter’s voice was low and sure. “We’ll get back one day. I know it.”

“But how?” she protested, pushing back from him enough to meet Peter’s eyes. She wanted to believe! There was complete certainty in his face; Susan saw it, and coveted it. How, how could he be so sure? _Tell me._ _Please. Tell me how to stop it hurting!_

Peter gave her a rare, sweet smile. “How do you know the sun will rise?”

Startled from weeping, she stared at him. “But what – what does that have to do with -”

“Faith, Susan. You must believe it.” Compassionate blue eyes, the only thing they shared, pierced her. The only thing they would ever share, it seemed.

A chill swept over her then, as she finally – _finally!_ – understood. Disentangling herself from her brother’s embrace, Susan stepped back. A trembling hand wiped off the tears that would not go away, no matter how hard she tried. And she let the morning’s chill into her heart. “But you see, that’s the problem, Peter. I can’t.”

Three steps took her away, and the spare room’s door closed gently on the wardrobe. She didn’t look back to see a pain echoing her own flare in her brother’s heart. 

* * *

****_(Edmund)_ ** **

* * *

“Unbelievable!” _Wow! It’s not Narnian, but – wow!_  Excitement danced in every nerve, and Edmund yelled back in delight, “Come on, come on!”

Impatient glances, pleading, badgering, even pushing wouldn’t get them to go any faster. He was careful not to push too hard, though. He’d seen the way Su hesitated, before finally deciding to go with them this afternoon. Something had happened, he could see that plain as day.

_But Peter and Su aren’t telling. Yet. And she agreed to take a closer look._

“Look at the lake!” Lucy cried, running forward to dip her hand in its waters. Edmund followed, with Peter practically treading on his heels. Almost as soon as Lucy’s skin touched liquid, however, she shrieked in surprise. “Oh!”

“Cold, Lu?” Peter teased.

The littlest stuck her tongue out, and Edmund saw the sparkle in brown eyes. _I know what_ that _means!_ He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid getting splashed. Peter wasn’t so lucky.  

“Aahhh! That’s _cold_!”

Lucy bestowed on them a cheshire grin. Edmund snickered. “You asked for it.”

His damp brother gave the woods – and there was something obviously wrong about the forest from this side – a last measuring look.

“We came to see the castle,” Susan interrupted. She was standing well back from the wavelets lapping against the shore, arms tight to her sides. “Let’s go.”

Edmund sobered. _I wish Peter would tell me what was wrong._ Susan had been like that all day. Abrupt, cold even. Though she would talk with them easily enough, there was a distance to her when they spoke about Narnia. But he couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Edmund took Lucy’s hand as Peter turned, joining Susan in leading them away from the lake. Her damn palm was chilly against his, and Edmund gave her fingers a squeeze, tossing her a smile. Lucy smiled back, but her attention slid back to Susan within a minute. _Even Lucy can see something’s the matter. Why won’t Su talk to us?_

There was something of an older-sibling’s club between Susan and Peter; one that had existed long before Narnia. It had seemed to disappear, though, not long after they were all crowned and the divide made by Aslan separated Peter out from the rest of them, instead of both Peter and Susan being put above Edmund and Lucy, the way their parents always did. _First chance I get -_

They came across a path suddenly, as they circled around past the loch toward the castle. It was churned with many marks of recent passing. “Hoof prints,” Edmund murmured, staring at the dirt. “Sometime since the last rain.” That gave them a week or more of leeway, then. But the crumbled edges of the prints indicated wind-wear and erosion; the animals hadn’t passed by within the last two days, maybe three.

Peter crouched at his side for a better look. “Huh. The shape’s . . . wrong. It’s not just fancy smithing with shoes – it’s the hoof itself.” Blond hair bobbed in the sun. “Look.”

The toe tapered to a point, both sides of the unshod hoof sleek and narrow; unlike anything they had ever seen or learned, but the closest would probably be the tracks of a hart in flight. The hoof had driven deeply into the ground, its edges slicing through grass and dirt. Wheeltracks smoothed the sides of the road. And there were a _lot_ of them, all headed in the same direction.

“It’s definitely not a horse,” Peter muttered. _Nor centaur, then_. His brother’s fingers flitted over the dirt.

Edmund frowned, leaning closer. “Stride’s too long for a pony. It could be a mule, maybe, but the shape’s all wrong. It looks like they hitched a hart to the wagons.” But the stride was far too long for a hart. “I wonder what made it.”

Peter hauled him upward, and two hands rested near where swords had once been carried. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Edmund sighed. _I don’t know that I like this._ But they still had a fair distance to go.He moved forward to talk to Su, and Peter swung Lucy on to his back, striding on ahead.

“Are you alright?”

Troubled blue eyes turned to meet his, and he ignored the fake smile beneath. “’Course, Edmund. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t want to come here,” he said flatly. _You didn’t want us to have anything to do with this place._

Susan shrugged carelessly. “Changed my mind.”

_And you’re tense enough for even Lu to notice. I wish you could tell me what’s wrong, Susan._

But she wouldn’t.

The day was warm, even though summer was already fading into fall. Soon the leaves would turn, plunging them into winter snows. It had never been bad in London that he could recall, but the Mansion was much farther north. But not so far north as the Witch’s Castle had seemed.

_And speaking of castles . . ._  

“It’s big,” Edmund breathed.

For a stock-still moment, the Pevensies just stared. It wasn’t big – it was enormous. Dizzying towers scratched the clouds as the stone bulk of the battlements sprawled out in front of them. It was ancient, browned and weathered by time. The flags flying from soaring spires were like nothing he had ever seen. Silver snakes slithered on green fields, badgers roared challenge from golden cloth. Eagles screamed out of blue sky, and most familiar of all, a lion ran rampant against a red backdrop. _What does it mean?_ He’d found himself learning heraldry in Narnia, but these symbols made no sense to him.

Nearby motion snared his gaze.

“Who’s that?” Susan murmured.

A boy, no more than fourteen, was sweeping across the grass outside the gate, headed their way. Edmund braced himself.

“What kind of clothes are those?” Lucy whispered.

“Shhh!” their older sister hissed.

They _were_ odd, Edmund decided. Sweeping lengths of cloth, almost Arabic, but made of black silk and open in the front, revealing what looked like nothing so much as a school uniform. _Weird. Really weird. I did get off the train in England, right?_     

“Who are you?” the boy demanded. Edmund first saw dark hair and blue eyes, with a face that might be handsome one day. And fear and cocksure arrogance in his gaze, as he tried to peer beyond the shield he and Peter made for their sisters. Lucy’s hand was small against his back, and he knew she was peeking between them for a better look.  

Edmund blinked. _And where did you leave your manners?_ Best to trust this one to the High King’s diplomacy. He’d probably make a hash of it – he already wanted to punch the kid.

“My name is Peter.” His brother stepped forward cautiously. “We walked here from beyond the forest. We were wondering if you could tell us what this castle is?”

Blue eyes darkened, the young face drawing down into a sneer. “You’re Muggles. But that’s not possible -”

“What’s a Muggle?” Burning eyes focused on him, and in that depthless gaze, Edmund saw the Witch.

He felt himself shoved aside, as Peter’s body came between them. A stick of wood was in the other boy’s hand, pointed threateningly at them.

“ _Obliviate!_ ”

* * *

_**(Albus)** _

* * *

 

“Mr. Riddle. May I ask what you are doing out here?”

The boy shifted, and then Albus caught sight of something that shouldn’t be. In a flash he realized why Tom Riddle was standing, back to the school, with his arms stretched carefully out to his sides.

_And here I thought the boy had been taken by a fit_. Though that glimpse of his student’s black-robed back from the school’s threshold had been very misleading. Albus chided himself. _Nonsense. Tom’s much too focused to spare time for a little thing like insanity._ Though his focus might one day lead him to it, that arrogance notwithstanding.

He raised his own hands carefully. “My name is Albus Dumbledore,” he introduced himself to the young man – _Muggle? Better not to assume –_ with the wand trained unerringly on his student. “I’m the professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Pleasure,” the blond boy replied shortly. His aim never wavered, though blue eyes flickered between them both. “Ed. You all right?”

A smaller, dark-haired boy was at his shoulder. There were others, bodies completely blocked, crouched behind them both. Albus caught a glimpse of – skirts?

The other boy’s eyes were dark and fierce, but his voice was completely calm. “Fine, Peter.”

“Good.”

_You would think something like this happened to them everyday._

“You cannot use that wand, Peter,” Albus said carefully. But wands were somewhat like loaded Muggle guns.

Apparently the boy recognized that. “Doesn’t matter,” was the short response. “As long as I have it, he doesn’t.”

_Clever._ And Albus felt himself pinned by a gaze much too old for the face around it. “Would you care to explain, _Professor_ , why your student attacked us?”

“Tom?” His voice was sharper than he intended; he slanted a glance at his young student, and was surprised to note grass stains and a split lip in addition to uncharacteristic dishevelment. _I suppose that’s how Peter got the wand from him._

“They’re Muggles,” was Tom’s grudging response. “They shouldn’t even be here. I tried to use the Memory Charm on them, Professor.  It didn’t work.” And the disgust in that tone told him that he’d find Riddle after-hours in a classroom with a basic spellbook. Practicing, and practicing, until he knew _exactly_ what had gone wrong. _Relentless_ didn’t even begin to describe it. Though _obsessive_ came close.

“Did you not think that perhaps this was an event the Headmaster should be informed about?”

A careless shrug shifted Tom’s robes. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Which you clearly could not,” Dumbledore said icily. No matter the front the boy put on for Dippet and the rest of the staff, he knew the pleasure Tom took in causing others pain. He felt a moment of relief that he’d paused for a breath of air. No telling what might have happened to these Muggle children if he hadn’t happened to glance out a window – though they, at least, seemed to be taking the situation in stride. Most unexpected. _I still don’t trust him._

“Perhaps next time you will consider the ramifications of any unusual events you encounter. If Muggles were able to simply walk past the protections of Hogwarts, then something more serious is amiss.” _Though I wouldn’t put it past Grindelwald to begin using children – especially ‘expendable’, non-magical children – to achieve his ends._

“Peter,” Dumbledore remained calm. The boy refused to waver, and thus they were locked in this standoff. Unless he could get Riddle out, to go for help. “I would like to trade places with my student.”

“No.” There was absolutely no give in that voice. _He’s of age with the fourth-year students,_ Dumbledore thought. Including Tom. _So why do his eyes remind me of –_

“Why not?” Tom was outraged. He clearly wanted to be as far from the danger and humiliation of his defeat as he could get.

“I may not trust either of you,” the blond boy said evenly, eyes settling on Riddle. “But I trust _you_ less.”

_And you won’t let him out of your sights, to where he could stab you in the back._ Albus was surprised by the child’s instincts. The younger boy – his brother? – had half-turned, gripping a very small hand in his own. But dark eyes never stopped moving, flicking over all of them and their surroundings. _The rearguard._

“Why is that?” Dumbledore asked, risking a step forward.

“Don’t move.” The younger boy spoke, clear and calm through a tension that tightened his shoulders and thinned his lips.

Peter kept his attention fixed on Tom. “Because while neither of you have explained yourselves or your actions to my satisfaction, at least _you_ haven’t attacked us. Yet.”

And Dumbledore was surprised by the lack of fear there. _Most unusual. And for a Muggle – he did not deny being unable to use the wand – yes. Very unusual indeed._

“What if I gave you my word you will not be harmed?”

Blue eyes considered, weighing them both against some internal balance of factors. “Your word,” he agreed. “Sworn on whatever you hold most precious in this world.”

He blinked, surprised. Not a usual request, but one that would bind even a wizard. “And in return?”

“I will return your student’s wand, and you will have my word that unless we are provoked, I will harm no one from the castle.”

_Very clever._ But there was a way to end this impasse at last. Good thing, because his arms were getting tired. And from the iron in those azure eyes, he doubted that was an excuse which would hold up against the boy’s scrutiny. Albus nodded. “You have my word. On my brother’s life, neither you nor any of those with you will ever be harmed on the grounds of Hogwarts School. Not while it is in my power to prevent it.”

Peter tilted his head in acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the boy in front of him. His free fist settled over his heart. “And I swear, that unless we are in danger, I will commit no violent act against a person from Hogwarts School. In Aslan’s name.”

_Aslan_. The word seemed to roll through the air, ringing oddly in his soul. Riddle flinched back.

Peter lowered the wand slowly.

Dumbledore held out a hand, their peace still new and tenuous, but the wood was yielded to his grasp without hesitation. He tucked the wand into his robes. Tom would get this back later. After a few hours of detention. Filch _had_ recently been complaining about the state of the trophy room.  

Peter stood straighter, relaxing from what Albus now knew to be a fighter’s crouch. His brother stood next to him, moving out. _A flanking maneuver._ At least those years playing chess were good for something.

A little girl, much too young to attend Hogwarts, slipped between them. And holding her hand was an older girl who seemed of age with their third-year students. He heard Tom’s breath catch, and looked more closely. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, and a sweet face. For all she couldn’t be fourteen yet, there was a strange age in her eyes as well.

“I’m Peter,” the blond boy said neutrally. “My sisters, Susan and Lucy. My brother, Edmund.” But he had marked Tom’s sudden attention to the elder girl, and Dumbledore caught the edge of an unspoken message that flew between the two brothers. _Danger. Watch this one._

“No surname?” Tom spoke up, his voice milder than Albus had heard it in years. Especially given the past few minutes, and the boy’s general state of disarray. He kept the shock off his face.

“Names have power,” Peter said softly. “You have not yet earned the right to ours.”

Tom stiffened in clear affront.

_Well. We’re off to a wonderful start._ Hands free at last, one drifted to tug absently at his neck-long brown beard. “Welcome,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “To HogwartsSchool of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

* * *

******_1993_******

* * *

 

Cool.

Not cold, not like the oceans sucking at Azkaban had been. Bone-chilling, breath-stealing cold of that water.

Crisp air against his nose. No longer summer.

Less food.

But he had made it to Hogwarts. The ForbiddenForest had been their refuge, and it was his once more. Before winter set in for certain, and he needed to find a warm hole. Maybe in Hogsmeade.

Not tonight.

Filthy black fur wriggled between roots, seeking shelter. The dog normally would never have fit, but it was sorrowfully skinny, and slipped through. Not easily, but then predators would have a hard time getting in as well.

The black dog, which could have been mistaken for a Grim had it not been so unkempt and emaciated, heaved a sigh. Freedom.

It longed for _pack_ , for _pack-play_ and _pack-hunt_. Motley pack, of _wolf-scent_ and _deer-stag_ and _small-rat_. There was not enough energy to growl at that last. _Deer-stag_ was gone. The dog might not know past and future as clearly as the human, but it knew pain, and _pack-lost_. It knew _pack-traitor_.

_He’s at Hogwarts._

The dog slept.

* * *

****_(Lucy)_ ** **

* * *

“Hagrid!” she called. “They’re coming!”

Perched on the fence, Lucy swung her heels against wooden logs. Students were arriving for their first Care of Magical Creatures class, and Hagrid had been excited to introduce them to the fantastic creatures he called ‘hippogriffs’.

_‘I know you want the first class to be a success. But Hagrid, you want these children to love and respect the creatures you teach them about, correct?’_

_The great shaggy head nodded over a cup of strong tea._

_'Respect has to be earned, Hagrid. Start them out small. Give yourself and them a chance to get used to the class.’_

_'Al righ’, Miss Lucy. If yeh think that’d be best. I dun’ want to be a bad teacher.’_

_'You could never be a bad teacher, Hagrid. You just need some experience at it. You wouldn’t expect Fang to be able to catch a Nogtail on the first try, would you?’_

_Startled, Hagrid jerked up. Tea sloshed. ‘O’course not! Why, they’re fast and canny ‘uns, that they are! Fang’d never catch one first time out, not until he’d practiced some -’ He trailed off, brow furrowed in realization._

_Lucy nodded. ‘Give yourself time to practice as well.’_

_A gigantic smile was her reward. Thank goodness she’d kept her diplomacy skills fresh. She was going to need them to deal with the rock-hard fudge still sitting on her saucer._

As the Slytherins approached, she saw Draco Malfoy in their midst. The Gryffindors had already gathered by the hut, and were eyeing their fellow students with resigned dislike.

“It’s really strange,” she heard Hermione Granger mutter to her friends, Harry and Ron Weasley. “I saw him in the library a few days ago, and he wasn’t making nasty comments with all his Slytherin friends. He had a _book_. And he was _reading_. And when he didn’t find what he was looking for, he asked Madam Pince for help. _Politely_.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Ron offered.

_Are House differences really that drastic?_ She’d seen a little of it fifty years ago, but either she hadn’t been exposed to the students enough or it hadn’t been as strong, because it jarred her now.

The boy was standing quietly in their midst, for once not talking at all. No sly remarks, no scathing insults designed to humiliate and hurt feelings. Edmund had only had him for a few weeks, but no one had ever said he wasn’t good at what he did. And for what they feared Draco might become – her brother was the best person to stop it.

She hopped from her perch. “Good afternoon, class.”

“Good afternoon,” scattered back to her.

“Hagrid should be out shortly,” she told them. “In the meantime, I suggest you place your satchels against the sides of his hut. Today will be a practical class.”

Excitement buzzed through the group, and Hagrid came out just as the last of them were dropping their books. “C’mon, now, get a move on! Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

A few moments of bustle and chatter later, Lucy was watching over the class as Hagrid moved into the forest to collect the day’s lesson. _Beautiful_ , she decided. The hindquarters and tails were of horses, but the front of the animal’s body was pure giant eagle, feathered and with gleaming talons.

“Gee up, there! Hippogriffs,” Hagrid explained to the class, beaming. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

Lucy smiled at their hesitation. Perhaps that first lecture about care and responsibility had sunk in some. _That, or they’re wishing themselves back to cleaning the kennels they were groaning over three weeks ago_.

“Now, the firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” Hagrid was saying. Lucy scanned the children, eyes narrowing. Crabbe and Goyle, two young boys who didn’t seem to have first names, were rumbling at one another in the midst of the Slytherins. Malfoy, however, was ignoring them. _Edmund,_ she thought admiringly. _What_ did _you say to him?_

“Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” Her own copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ had emphasized that, though it was in general too lacking in information to be anything other than a rough guide.

Lucy watched carefully as Hagrid talked Harry through greeting Buckbeak. Though he was bound to be nervous, he worked through it well. Seeing his success relaxed the rest of the class.

After the first week, Edmund had turned Harry, along with a few of his other students, into Peter’s care. He always did the best he could for those who came to him for help, even if it meant that someone else could help them better. And quite frankly, Edmund was busy enough as it was dealing with the high-risk list - _Ridiculous as that is, thinking they can determine the fate of others. Especially when they’re just children_ – and the more delicate cases. He turned a few of the youngest over to her as well sometimes, but didn’t leave her to deal with anything more than culture shock. And that was easily cured. Some time walking about the lake and talking, or playing cards or doing something ‘normal’.

She saw it before it happened. Goyle, who clearly hadn’t been paying attention, was snorting something to Crabbe – something nasty, from the sounds of it. Golden eyes of the beast they were ignoring narrowed.

Talons flashed – she yanked the boy out of the way. “No!”

Screaming challenge, the creature – _Buckbeak_ – reared, slashing out with razored claws.

“ _Halt!_ ”

The hippogriff quieted, dropping to its feet. Knees and head bent.

“Rise,” she commanded. “Go into the Forest, and wait there.”

In a flash of feathers and tail, Buckbeak had gone. Lucy turned, to find the entire class had frozen, and were now eyeing the hippogriffs near them with renewed fear.

“Detention,” Hagrid snapped at Goyle. The half-giant’s face was white. “Yeh weren’t payin’ attention. Yeh could’ve bin hurt.”

There were curious whispers, eyes on her. But while she might not be the professor of this class, she wasn’t without her own authority. “As for the rest of you,” she snapped, nerves raw. “If I _ever_ catch you insulting a hippogriff, or trying to command one, I’ll make Professor Snape’s detentions look like _fun_. I’ve been working with these creatures far longer than you will. So _don’t_ try it.”

“Tha’s enou’ fer today,” Hagrid called. “Class dismissed. Don’ ferget to bow, now, when yeh take yer leave o’ the hippogriff yeh’ve been workin’ with!”

Careful, precise bows. They even held off running for the castle until they had all gotten out of the pen, and the gate was closed.

“Fool boy,” Hagrid growled, herding the eleven remaining hippogriffs back to the Forest.

“These things happen, Hagrid,” she said quietly. _If I hadn’t gotten there in time . . ._

“Yeh were right teh wait, Miss Lucy. If that’d happened firs’ lesson . . .” He had the confidence in himself now to move past it. But she knew.

“They’d be studying flobberworms for the rest of the year?”

Hagrid let out a rough chuckle. “They migh’, at that.”

* * *

****_(Remus)_ ** **

* * *

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Edmund joked, settling himself onto the staff room’s horrid purple couch. “People will talk.”

Remus smiled. But for Dumbledore in the chair by the fire that Remus had been picking at, the room was otherwise entirely empty. Though judicious application of a sewing spell had contained the furthest extents of the damage. It had been a difficult conversation.

But the effects had been worthwhile. Taking advantage of the empty staffroom, Edmund had bundled Lucy out to the hallway. And then Peter had spoken quietly for many minutes, about betrayal – and forgiveness.

For the first time in years, there were people Remus Lupin counted as friends.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had spread the next month’s lesson plans on the table in front of him. He needed to adjust all the curriculums. And his arrangements for during the full moon. This month’s episode had shown him just how easy it was to get behind.

_And Severus didn’t help any, by assigning all my students essays on werewolves,_ he thought sourly. At least he’d varied the length in proportion to the students’ levels of education. He might just not grade them, at that.

“How are you?” Edmund asked, looking him over carefully.

“I’m fine. Looks worse than it is.” _But it always hurts like hell after_ , came the grim thought. _Wolfsbane Potion can only do so much. Though at least the transformations aren’t so bad now._

Brown eyes didn’t buy his excuse, and he was reminded of inflexible hazel that hadn’t stood for such prevarication either. Unaccustomed warmth washed his soul. “I’ll be fine.”

Edmund could accept that.

There were a few moments of comfortable silence, before it was broken by the door opening once more.

“ – not working?” he could hear the frown in that familiar voice.

Lucy shrugged, settling down on purple cushions. “I watched some of the students, before I tried, but the silly thing didn’t move. Short of shoving it off the perch -”

“And none of the other owls would deliver the letter, either?” Peter rubbed his forehead. Remus didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. The Pevensies had slipped quite easily into the Wizarding world. If not for their strange manner of dress, it would be easy to believe they had been born to it.

“No.”

He’d caught some of his students making that very mistake. _A good sign. Perhaps now they see that we’re not so different after all._

“Maybe I’ll just take it to regular post, then. The Mansion’s not fifteen kilometers away, and the town just a bit beyond that.”

“You’ll be gone all day,” Edmund pointed out.

Peter shrugged. “It’s not right that we’ve gone all this time and not contacted Su at all.”

“Who?” Curiosity killed the werewolf. But Edmund answered before he could kick himself.

“Our -” he indicated himself and Lucy, “- older sister, Susan. Peter has almost two years on her.”

_So there’s four of them._ Why hadn’t he heard about this before? _Don’t be ridiculous,_ he scolded himself. _There must be a reason why they’re here, and she’s not, close as they all are. And if they haven’t spoken of it before now -_

“It is a difficult road to travel,” Dumbledore broke in. Remus calmed his racing heart. _Sneaky_. Despite the pure _presence_ of the old man, he could be unobtrusive as a Bowtruckle if he put his mind to it. “And there are many perils along the way.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. _What is that supposed to mean?_

“I have traveled it before,” Peter said evenly. But his face was strangely set, his attention leveled on the Headmaster. “And I do not fear Dementors.”

Albus shook his head. “That is not what I meant, Peter.”

_What is he up to?_

The white-haired wizard sighed. “None of the owls will take any message to Susan.”

“Why?”

_And why does even Lucy sound suspicious now?_

“I sent your sister a letter,” Dumbledore told them calmly. Remus’s stomach sank. _This is not going to be good . . ._ The headmaster’s voice softened. “To keep her from coming here, and walking into danger. I told her that you had all been killed. In the Muggle train wreck that took place two weeks ago, outside London.”

“You _what_?”

A strong hand dragged Edmund back, halting his lunge for the Headmaster. Lucy’s dark eyes were large in her pale face.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking you know us, _Headmaster_ ,” Edmund spat. “You have probably just hit upon the one thing that would drag Susan _back_ to the Mansion, and _into_ danger.” He struggled uselessly against the iron grip, swore. “Let me _go_ , Peter!”

_“Edmund.”_ The dark-haired man froze, but infuriated eyes never left Dumbledore. _“Stand down._ ”

Incredibly, he did.

Remus blinked. _Peter?_

“You tread a very thin line, Headmaster.” He hadn’t known the eldest Pevensie could get so angry. But unlike Edmund’s burning fury, this was a cold rage. And all the more dangerous for it. “Do not force me to break my oath. You would not like the results.”

Even Fudge would not confuse that flash of teeth with a smile.

And they were gone.

_What just happened here?_

* * *

****_(Peter)_ ** **

* * *

_I’m going to kill him._

The only thing stopping him was his oath.

The _only_ thing. _Hah!_

Albus Dumbledore seemed to have forgotten. But Peter’s word was his bond. He had given his oath, but by Aslan! Dumbledore may not have broken the word of his own promise, but the spirit of the agreement had been so thoroughly violated, Peter was tempted to -  

_For that – for what he’s done to Susan –_

But.

_I’ll not become an oath-breaker for the likes of him._

Forgiveness was something Peter had had to learn the hard way, and he’d learned it well. But he never forgot. _Because if I do, it’ll only come back to hurt us._

“At this point, killing Dumbledore would only cause far more problems than it would solve.”

Lucy’s blunt statement startled a laugh out of him. _She wasn’t named ‘The Valiant’ for nothing,_ he reminded himself.

Edmund only snarled.

Peter packed away his anger, to be dealt with later. For all his gentleness and ability to help and forgive others, Edmund had no tolerance for those who broke the trust granted to them. Peter pulled his thoughts away from _why_ that might be. _But add to that his quick temper, and –_

“Ed.”

A stream of profanity spouted from his brother. Good thing Lu’d taken them out by the lake. He didn’t need any students hearing this. Peter rubbed at the headache building up in his temples. _C’mon, Lu, back me up here?_

But for once, Lucy didn’t chastise him. “Is that even physically possible?”

_And, of course, Dumbledore’s managed to enrage her as well._

“I don’t know. I think the _Headmaster_ should help us find out,” Edmund snapped back. Toe met dirt, kicking up a rock. Edmund hurled it into the lake.

Lucy snickered.

_At least they’ve calmed down some._

He tried again. “Edmund -”

“ _What!_ ”

His temper, frayed and worn, snapped.

* * *

****_(Edmund)_ ** **

* * *

“By the Lion’s Mane!”

Edmund jumped.

“Peter!” Hands pressed to Lucy’s mouth in shock.

_Peter never swears_. He never said so, but Edmund knew his older brother thought it was distasteful. And it set a bad example. _Not that he’ll ever admit that he’s still looking after us._

But now, Edmund could see that their sister queen’s distress left the High King unmoved. And at that moment, Peter was every inch the ruler of Narnia – from the blazing fury in blue eyes to the firm, subtle fighting stance. The veneer of normalcy had cracked, and royal anger blazed bright underneath.

But there was no one here to fight.

Slowly, the anger drained away, leaving behind the man in place of the monarch.

“Sorry, Lu,” he sighed.

Like Lucy, his own temper flashed and died. But Peter had always been slow to anger. Once roused, his fury burned behind every action until the source was eliminated. So that anger wasn’t gone. Just banked, until it could be put to use.

_And I didn’t help any._ “I’m sorry, Peter.”

His big brother dropped to the grass next to him, rubbing at a headache. “I’m sorry too, Ed. There was no call for me to lose it like that.”

“I’d say there was more than enough reason,” he murmured.

The only sound in hearing, for many minutes, was the gentle lapping of the lake. When the breeze blew from the south, he caught gusts of mer-song. So strangely different from what he was used to.

“What can we do about it?” Years ago Lucy was eager for deeds over words. Time had tempered the impulsiveness. _Only so far as to drag us all with her when she runs headlong into what is, more oft than not, danger_. _At least she pauses long enough to let us try to form a plan, now. Sometimes._

The blond head shook in the negative. “For now, there’s nothing to be done. We can only hope that the rift that’s grown between us these last few years is wide enough to keep Su away. At least until we can resolve this.”

It was a bitter thing to admit.

“Life goes on?” his sister asked sadly.

_I hate it too, Lu. No doubt Peter does most of all._

“It has to.”

Something beeped. “No kidding.” Edmund swore at his watch. “I’m going to be late.”

* * *

****_(Draco)_ ** **

* * *

_He’s late._ Whatever. Free time, he guessed.

A part of him was honestly curious.

_Doesn’t matter what some stupid Mu- Muggle gets up to,_ he told it. _He’s late. I’m outta here!_

“Going somewhere, Mr. Malfoy?”

Or not.

“No,” he muttered.

The man checked the strange watch strapped to his wrist, and raised a brow. “You waited a whole fifteen minutes before deciding to clear out. I _am_ impressed.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted uncomfortably. _It’s not like Dumbledore wouldn’t find out – and then Father would be_ really _angry._ His parents didn’t send Howlers. It was crass to parade their disagreements out in public, and Howlers weren’t exactly subtle. “You should be.” But it was a little too late to save face. Muggle or not, Edmund wasn’t stupid. He’d found that out _really_ fast.

“So what’s today’s torture?” He tried to sound disgruntled, but he was actually starting to _like_ these meetings. Goyle and Crabbe might be good at taking orders, but he’d yet to find anyone in Slytherin who could match him when it came to sheer cunning. It was to his House’s disgrace that a Muggle could.

The smile Edmund gave him set him on edge. The man was usually very easygoing – and the switch to this caustic manner was a bad sign. “We’re going outside for a bit.”

He smoothly buried his excitement, following the man from his office. It wouldn’t do to be caught _liking_ any of this. It was punishment, after all. But the last of the good weather was almost gone, and -       

He saw what lay ahead of them, and his feet refused to carry him any further.

“Draco, you’ve met my brother, Peter?”

That sword was _sharp._

Draco swallowed.

_I’m dead._

His father’s latest letter had been one admonishing him to steer completely clear of these people. _Not that I can._ But the story he’d told his son – of hurling every dark curse a thirteen-year-old Lucius could think of at the irritating, and _in-the-way!_ Mudblood, and watching them all _die_ before even reaching the target . . . . If that wasn’t enough, from what the elder and younger Malfoy could piece together, the Pevensies hadn’t aged. _No charms are that good._ To completely hide the effects of almost twenty years? _Impossible._

And he’d read about _Aegis Sanguinis_. Taken him a damn long time to find the books – it was magic even older than Dumbledore had hinted. _Figures._ From a time when there hadn’t even _been_ a division between normal and Darkmagic.

But if these people had it – and the way his curse had been swallowed up closely matched the description in the books – only a complete idiot would make an enemy of one of the Pevensies. Draco might just be a kid, but he knew danger when he landed knee-deep in it.

That last little comment of Dumbledore’s hadn’t helped, either.

_I am so dead._

* * *

****_(Padfoot)_ ** **

* * *

_Scent-on-wind_. Warm. Meaty.

Food.

Pale eyes shone in the sun’s last rays. The dog blinked, padded nearer in the brush. Ears perked.

Noise.

Human. _Not-pack. Not-hunter._ Leaving.

Food?

It knew the hut, from days when pack was young. It knew the man that lived there, too large for human, too small for giant, with _mixed-scent_. But the man was always kind to those of fur and claw.

Food . . .

The dog gulped at the meat, chopped small and cooked. Pale eyes never stopped roving. Savory scents were thick in the air.

Always cold and tired, now. Hard to hunt – shaking legs, no _will-to-run_. Sleeping meant no pangs from an empty belly. But so hard to wake up . . . . He had smelled the food, left close to the treeline for something else.

A pink tongue licked the metal plate. Food. Gone. But so was _hunger-pain_.

Noise.

Human, female, young. Humming a gentle tune, carrying a bowl. Liquid sloshed.

It stopped. Soft music froze.

_Sees me!_

The black scrap of life fled.

* * *

****_(Harry)_  ** **

* * *

_He_ drank _it! I wouldn’t trust Snape not to poison it!_

“Harry?” She caught him coming out of Lupin’s office. “What are you still doing here?” _All the other students are at Hogsmeade. I know._  She didn’t have to say it.

“My – The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form, Miss Pevensie.”

“Oh.” The auburn head tilted, dark eyes looked him over searchingly. “And it’ll be a bit before Ron and Hermione are back. Would you mind coming with me?” She smiled at him. “I promise it has nothing to do with class. I need some help, and I think you might be just the person I’m looking for.”

_What else do I have to do?_ “Okay.”

“All right then. Come on.”

She led him outside, and the windows of Hagrid’s hut were bright in the light of the setting sun. “Are we going to see Hagrid?”

“Not exactly.”

He followed as she went to Hagrid’s door, and knocked.

Wooden hinges creaked. “Abou’ that time, eh, Miss Pevensie? Ah, Harry! Come teh help us?”

He eyed the large plate, laden with browned meat. It steamed faintly in the chill evening air. “Sure, Hagrid.”

“All righ’, then, yeh two. I’ll gee back inside. Don’ wan’ teh startle ‘im none. Harry, you be in before dark, now, yeh hear?”

He nodded, grinning. “Sure, Hagrid.”

Lucy smiled at the half-giant. “I’ll leave the plate with Fang before I go, as usual.”

Hagrid’s shaggy head nodded, eyes twinkling. “Night, then, Harry.”

“G’night, Hagrid.”

“What are we going to do with that?” Harry asked as soon as the latch fell. He scurried after her in the last of the sun’s light. She wasn’t especially tall, but – _boy, she’s fast!_

“Feeding a guest.” Lucy set the plate down, and got busy crushing several pills in her handkerchief. The powder was buried in the meat. “Nothing harmful,” she said at his wide eyes. “Essential vitamins, de-worming pills. A few extras for malnutrition.” She hefted the plate. “Stay here, and crouch down behind the pumpkins.”

She deposited the food much closer to the ForbiddenForest than Harry was usually willing to go. “Be very quiet,” she told him. “He has very good ears.”

“Who -”

A hand slipped over his mouth. “Shh!”

He followed the pointed nod. _What’s – ohhh._

A shadow slipped free from the darkness enveloping the trees, and crept toward them. Paws hesitated, and a doggy muzzle lifted. Sniffed. Ventured closer.

“He’s a stray,” breathed Lucy. “Maybe from Hogsmeade, maybe from further away. He might even have been abandoned by some upstanding wizard, but his owner is long gone.”

An echo of her anger flared in him. _The poor thing. It’s eating like -_ Like he did at the Dursley’s table. As if it knew the plate might be snatched from under its nose at any moment.

But he was still confused. “What makes you think he’s a wizard’s pet?”

He could almost hear the shrug. “To survive in the ForbiddenForest? He’d have to be.” A hand squeezed his shoulder. “Harry, I want you to stand up. Slowly. Make a few noises, nothing loud. Try calling him.”

_What? But -_ “I’ll scare him – he needs the food -”

“It’s all right. He’s eaten enough to get by until tomorrow night, and gotten the medicines down too. And he won’t spook unless you move quickly, or loudly.”

Harry nodded, still unsure. _But if I can handle a broadsword – at least a little – I can do this._

He made a few throat-clearing noises, careful to move slowly out from behind the massive pumpkin. The dog’s eyes gleamed pale in the low light, but it never stopped gulping down meat.

“Good dog,” he said quietly, taking a few small, careful steps.

The animal left off eating, looking up at him. He froze. “Good dog,” he breathed quietly. “Good dog, don’t run away. I’m not going to hurt you. Good dog.”

A black tail lifted, wagged uncertainly.

_What do you do, what do you do_ – Harry remembered a Muggle book he had read about dogs once. It had been one of Dudley’s cast-offs, but the smiling canine on the front had looked so happy that he’d slipped it out of the trash, and hidden it under his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. Dudley obviously had never read it, because he’d taunted all the animals on the street mercilessly.

Slowly lowering himself to a crouch, Harry turned so the animal could see him in profile. He felt incredibly stupid, but if it worked . . .  “Good dog,” he crooned, holding out a careful hand. “Good dog . . .”

It padded closer, looking at him carefully. Harry held his breath. _Come on, good dog, come on, it’s alright._            

A cold nose bumped his fingers, sniffing cautiously. “Good dog,” he whispered. “It’s all right, no one’s going to hurt you.”

Black fur crept closer, sniffing and sniffing. He was suddenly aware that the dog was quite big. _And – teeth . . ._ but he leant back, just a little, and the animal flinched away. _No!_

But it didn’t run, and Harry held the sigh of relief, letting it get close again. The animal seemed content to just sniff him. A spot of warm wetness, a brief lick to his hand. _Careful, careful . . ._

But the dog easily accepted his palm on its neck, so he softly stroked black fur.

Quiet steps, every move measured, approached from behind. But the dog, snuffling at Harry’s sweater, didn’t seem to notice.

Harry risked a name. “Miss Pevensie?”

“Looks like I was right,” she smiled. “He seems quite taken with you.”

Harry gently stroked the animal, moving back to the plate so the dog could eat, since it didn’t seem to want to leave him. A ratty tail waved happily. Black nose bent to food once more.

“I first saw him about a month ago. He’s filled out quite a lot since then, but winter’s coming and I’m getting concerned.”

_Filled out? But he’s so thin . . ._ Harry jerked toward her. “You think he’ll die?”

Solemn eyes met his. “I think we’re in for a hard winter this year, Harry. And the ForbiddenForest is not the place I’d want to spend it.”

“Students can’t have dogs in the dorms -” But he had Hedwig. Why would he want to keep this dog?

“My brothers and I have been given quite a lot of space to live in. There’s plenty of room for one more. If you’re willing to help me, that is. It will be a big responsibility, Harry.”

“But – will he even come with us?” Harry said doubtfully. He never stopped petting the shaggy black fur. It was matted, nettles tangled so deeply that most would have to be cut out.

Lucy smiled at him. “Now, with the students gone for another hour, is the best time to try.”

* * *

****_(Neville)_ ** **

* * *

_The first Quidditch match of the season!_

He never managed to get near a broomstick without somehow breaking _something_ , but that didn’t mean he didn’t love the sport.

_Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff!_

Gran wrote that this was one of the coldest and wettest Octobers in years, so he was wearing his hat, and his scarf, and he’d asked Hermione to cast some water-repelling charms on his coat, just in case.

Neville almost bounced. Ron and Hermione were next to him, and Seamus and Dean on his other side. Ginny was there too – all of them, screaming their lungs out as blurs of color _whizzed_ past.

“Yeah! Go Fred, George! Go Harry!” Ron shouted.

Hermione shrieked in his ear as a bludger almost didn’t miss the Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood.

“Yeah!” Neville yelled.

A shout rose up from the stands. “Look!”

It was Diggory – they could barely see through the pelting rain, but he was zooming across the pitch, headed for something – _The Snitch!_

But it was suddenly cold, so cold. Inside. And Neville gasped. 

Gray cloaks, nearly invisible in the rain, swarmed onto the pitch. _Dementors._ They were getting closer –

_“Hello, Mum.” Neville tried to smile, stumbled into a chair. Gran had left him, just for a few moments. To go to the ladies’ loo, he thought. Wasn’t sure, though. Didn’t matter. “Happy Christmas.” His fingers gripped the lax hand, wishing, just once, for a return squeeze. “Second year’s been really great so far. P- Professor McGonagall says that if I can practice more with her after hours, I’ll get above-average marks in her class.”_

_He lifted a handkerchief, tenderly wiped the chin under her open mouth. She – she was just sleeping, he told himself._

_Neville turned to his other side, scraping up a shaking smile for sightless eyes. “Dad. Professor Snape’s really awful. I – I’m lucky Hermione’s my – my friend. She helps me a lot. I think I’d be f-failing if she didn’t.” His voice broke on the confession. But the eyes didn’t turn his way, didn’t blink. If his father’s chest wasn’t rising and falling with each breath, it would be easy to think – to think that -_

Neville gasped, suddenly able to breathe. _Gone? They’re – they’re gone? What – how –_

Ginny’s face was bone-white, her fingers clamped to his arm.

“What – what spell was that?” Hermione, behind him. She sounded exhausted.

“Dunno.” Ron’s voice cracked.

And they could finally see – teachers, down on the pitch, facing off against the Dementors, who had been frightened back but still lingered, loathe to leave the feast of feeling trembling just beyond their grasp. The students were clearing out, rushing back to the safety of the castle.

“Harry!”

At Ginny’s shout, Neville looked. The Gryffindor Seeker was being lifted onto a stretcher by Dumbledore, McGonagall at his side.

“He’ll – he’ll be alright,” he heard Hermione say. Her voice was shaking. “Dumbledore’s there. He has to be okay.”

Neville licked dry lips. Looked back to the teachers. And stared.

“C’mon.” Ron, at his side. The stands were nearly empty, but -“ ’Scuze us, Neville -”

He managed a word. “Look!”

Out, in front of the grim line of teachers, stood three figures – the only ones not wearing robes.

_The – the Muggles._

He squinted, aware that they were the only ones left in the stands. The wind whipped past them, carrying shreds of words and voices.

“ – _will – begone!”_

And the Dementors fled before them.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

****_1941_ ** **

* * *

****_(_ _Professor Kirke)_ ** **

* * *

“Happy Halloween, children!”

Surprise on the young faces; it even reached the old eyes. He smiled. _I do believe I’ve startled the legendary Kings and Queens of Narnia._ What more could he ask for? They’d been given a second chance at childhood, but had forgotten how to live it. _They just need a little help._

“Finola, you have really outdone yourself!” he praised. His housekeeper blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Well, dig in, dig in!” He seated himself grandly, and the children eagerly pulled up their chairs. “A veritable feast!”

And it was. He’d asked Finola to cook something special for them. Since the weather had palled, the children were able to go out less and less. They’d begun by spending hours – days, even – in the woods. The looming inability to do so for much longer was grating on them. Peter had told him of the castle, and the strange people they’d discovered there. And the war that world was waging; one which mirrored the war in their own.

_It’s not as if I can truly stop them from going._

But . . . he didn’t have a good feeling about this. While they might be adults in young bodies, as far as this world knew, they were only children. And he had a responsibility to care for them – one placed upon him by Helen Pevensie. A woman he had never met. _Their mother._

He looked around the room, noticed an absence. “Where’s Susan?”

The eldest frowned. “She told me she was going to the library.”

The Professor shook his head. “I was there all this afternoon, and I assure you, I was the only one there.”

Peter looked to the others. “You haven’t seen her?”

“No.”

Lucy shook her head.

Peter’s chair scraped back from the table. 

“Peter?”

The boy stopped at the threshold, still buttoning his coat. “I’m sorry, Professor.” An apology, but no compromise, in that voice. “I’m afraid Susan’s gone out.”

He looked to the dark windows, lashed by rain. _In that?_ “Where?”

Peter’s expression was grim. “The castle.”

_And to the young man there._ Tom, his name was. Peter hadn’t tried to hide his concern from the Professor.

_“I’m worried,” he admitted, back straight. The High King met his gaze levelly, but the fear was evident. “This boy – there is something wrong about him.”_

_“He doesn’t care for your sister as much as she believes him to?” Things like this – one could only treat them delicately. And ignore that although Susan might be ‘older’, this boy was in reality fourteen. Both of them._

_“I believe_ he _believes he cares for her.”_

_“But?”_

_“Su’s not one to lose her head over a suitor,” Peter said frankly. “Outside of that - it’s not a situation we’re unfamiliar with. But she – clings to him, beyond reason. And beyond that –” He bit his tongue._

_"Beyond that?”_

_A whisper. “I know evil, when I see it. When it smiles at me, and tries to soothe my fears with honeyed words.” Blue eyes, troubled, caught his. “I cannot trust him._

_“He’s invited her – us – to the castle for the Halloween Feast next week. We’re not going.”_

_“And was the decision . . . unanimous?” He had to ask. Before the problem could spiral out of control._

_“Not quite.” Diplomacy, tempering the boy’s blunt honesty._

Digory nodded. “Take the mare.”

* * *

****_(Tom)_ ** **

* * *

“You came!”

A brilliant smile, one that punched out his breath.

“Yes.”

“Through all that?” He frowned at the rain. He knew she had a long way to travel, but he’d thought she would start out earlier, not get caught in it – “You’re soaked.”

Laughter, bright and wonderful. Like nothing he’d ever heard before in his life. “Just a bit.”

“Here, let me help. You don’t have magic, after all,” he scolded lightly. A few spoken words, and dark hair curled invitingly over his fingers. The slender figure beneath the Muggle garments was no longer so fetchingly outlined – but Susan wasn’t that kind of girl.

“Where’s the rest of your family?” He looked around, trying to hide his irritation. He might hate them, but they were good for one thing; traveling so far alone was dangerous –

“They didn’t want to come.”

She said it lightly, but he couldn’t believe his ears. “What?” Deep breath, to calm the rage. _Hells with that._ “Susan, I’ve _told_ you what lives in the Forest! Didn’t that lunk of a brother of yours think that you needed protection? You _should not_ have traveled through the Forbidden Forest alone!” The thought of what might have happened to her, to his sweet, gentle Susan, made him shiver. He _hated_ being afraid for her!

She stared at him, and he forced the scowl off his face. “They didn’t want to come, Tom. I couldn’t have come at all if I didn’t sneak off on my own.”

_What! I should have known . . ._ “You – came by yourself?” It staggered him, that she would show such bravery. _For me?_ “To see . . . me?”

He was rewarded with another beautiful laugh. “Of _course_ I came to see you, Tom! There’s no one else here I care about!”  She wrinkled her nose at the storm. “Not enough to go through _that_ , at any rate!”

But they were inside now, under the protection of Hogwarts’ archways and slate roofs. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, gathering her close. “Wait until you see the Great Hall,” he whispered.

He was able to see it again through her sparkling eyes, her soft “Oh!” of wonderment.

Gigantic pumpkins and streamers of orange and black festooned every corner. Enchantments in the shape of bats had her eyes wide, and he used the excuse to wrap his arms around her, and whisper protective words of reassurance. She smiled bravely back at him. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re much lovelier.”         

Another laugh, and a delighted flush. “Tom!”

The food was excellent, and he and Susan sat together at the end of the Slytherin table. Speaking lightly of what they would do when the weather cleared, and other plans. For the future.

It couldn’t last.

The spell was broken when they left the Great Hall, lingering far longer than anyone else. Long enough that Dumbledore, irritating as he was, came up to them with a smile and suggested that it was late, Susan really should be getting home now. Interfering fool.

Her brother, soaked and expressionless, was waiting. “You ran off without telling us where you were going.”

She started, saw him. Paled. “I left a note -”

“To come and see him.”

There was no accusation in her brother’s voice that he could hear. But in the face of what he wasn’t saying – Tom’s fists clenched. Susan bristled.

“Peter, Tom’s not like that! He’s different!”

He was. He’d changed himself, for her. _Because she deserves the best._ And he could become it.

But he could see the other boy didn’t believe her. And that enraged him. “Do you think she would lie to you?” he hissed. Susan loved her brother. Why, he didn’t know. But he wouldn’t hurt him unless Peter gave him no other choice. He half-hoped he would.

The blond boy’s eyes narrowed. “Outside. Now.” He looked at Susan. “We’re leaving.”

And his prayers were answered. “Gladly,” Tom snarled. “But maybe you should let _her_ decide where and when she goes!”

Blue eyes burned fire at him. Tom smirked.

“No, Peter!”

“Susan, stay back!”

“No, Susan!”

She rushed toward them anyway. The rain caught his hair, whipped into his eyes. He cried a frantic spell, to put a wall up and keep her away, keep her safe – but like her brothers and sister, his magic had no effect.

She threw herself between them. And was hit by a blow meant for _him_.

“ _Susan!_ ”

“You will not touch her.”

He’d – he’d – _I wasn’t going to hurt her!_ His enraged gaze locked on the other, but he was taken aback by the power of the fury that met him there. The blond boy lifted Susan onto the mare’s back. “I’m taking her home.”

Without a backward glance, he clucked to the horse. The storm swallowed them whole.

And he knew. He would never see her again.

_Muggles._ They brought nothing but pain. It filled his soul, burning; raging torrents of breath-stealing agony. Memories of torment in the orphanage, of family that disowned him, and now, the only person he would ever love – _Who ever loved me!_

She was torn from him. _Forever._

_I will destroy them all._ He had no reason to hold back any longer, no reason to resist the temptation waiting in the night.Why should he keep to the path others walked, when it would not bring him Susan?

_Tonight, Tom Riddle dies._ And any love he might feel died with him. Tom Riddle was a fool, anyway. _I am Lord Voldemort!_

Alone but for the storm, he raised his head to the ravaging heavens. And in one last act of love and pain, Tom Marvolo Riddle howled out the death cry of the boy he had been.     

  
****

* * *

******_1993_ ** ** **

* * *

****_(Voldemort)_ ** **

* * *

 

He had forgotten things, over the years. The transformations demanded much of him. Blood measured out in precious ruby drops, pounds of flesh seared from his body. The body that had been gone long enough for him to forget the familiarity of limbs, of walking upright. To _know_ the slither of scales, as he had known the fit of his skin.

And pieces of his soul.

He had given it all.

And almost achieved everything.

_But for the boy –_

And he would give it all again, and more, for complete victory. _I will have his body broken at my feet!_

But for some reason, the image in his mind was not that of the messy-haired brat prophesied to be his end. Though that one was dead, and just didn’t know it yet. The face was overlaid by a memory – a memory of blond hair, furious blue eyes. And a strange, shivering fear that _wasn’t_ – _couldn’t be!_ – his own. _Impossible!_

And then the memory was gone.

He prodded at the simple mind bolstering his. It was reduced to mere instinct, now, crumbling away under the burden of his soul. The last, remaining piece that contained all he was.

It was more than enough.

He had been reduced to _this_ , living and feeding off others. It was _disgusting_ , that _he – Lord Voldemort!_ – should be no better than a mere _parasite_. But all he needed was one chance. Just one. _And then . . . ._ Revenge was sweet sustenance, indeed.

A darting memory, of storm and pain. _‘I will destroy them all!’_

And he would – no matter if he could no longer remember why.

Forked tongue hissed, tasting the air. Familiar scents, lacking any sense of threat.

He probed again at the mind beneath his, pushing hard. Weakened, cracks spread across its surface. It gave, just a little. _Hmmm._ He would need a new host, soon.

_Just one chance –_

It would come to him. He _knew_ it.

_Until then . . ._  

No matter. There were plenty of snakes in the Forest.

* * *

****_(Edmund)_  ** **

* * *

“Good dog,” Lucy breathed, gently pouring another warm pail of water over black fur. “Good dog. No one’s going to hurt you. You’ll feel much better when we’re done.”

He surveyed the quaking animal in the overlarge tub, and was only grateful that they didn’t have to do this outside. The house-elves were enormously helpful, even if their servile attitudes made him cringe.  “How did I get roped into this, again?” But he kept his voice low, not wanting to startle.

“Because Peter said that after two weeks, if the dog was recovered enough to stay inside, it was recovered enough to get clean. And because you laughed at the mess he made in Peter’s room.”

“Ah,” Edmund murmured, tongue-in-cheek. “Soap?”

“I think we’re going to have to cut some of these out,” Lucy fussed. “I’ll snip, you soap.”

“Yes, My Lady.”       

A gentle wave traversed the tub. Hit the metal side, and splashed up into his face. Edmund spat, sputtered. _Dog water! Ugh. Gross . . . Lucy!_

He glared.

Lucy the Valiant laughed at him.

_Shouldn’t have tried,_ he sighed, working up a good lather in black fur. _It only works when Peter does it._

But he let Lucy work with the dog, trying to ignore the constant shivering under his fingers. The room was very warm. _Why so afraid?_ He didn’t like having to watch any creature suffer. _But there’s nothing I can do about it. He needs time, to trust, to heal._  

All animals were able to speak. The ones on Earth didn’t do so as plainly as those in Narnia, but all that meant was that you had to learn how to _listen_.

“He was someone’s once, Lu,” Edmund murmured quietly. “He’s such a good dog.” _I don’t understand. How could someone –_ But he did understand. His lips tightened.

“I think he was mistreated, before his owners abandoned him.” The soothing tone never faltered. “He’s quiet, hasn’t tried to bite.”

“Well behaved,” Edmund added. _But if his spirit hasn’t been crushed, it’s only by the grace of Aslan._

Soft snipping, as Lucy turned her attention to the brambles lodged deeply into black fur. A quiet whine, so low it went almost unheard, as she touched the water-sleek neck.

Lucy frowned. Edmund watched warily, ready to move if the animal shied. He’d looked on in amazement the night his sister had coaxed the filthy, hesitant mutt through the portrait guarding the entrance to what he had privately named the PevensieTower. Some food, a few discreet pills - and once it was asleep, she’d thoroughly examined it for any sign of injury.

All she had found were scars.

Edmund had distracted Harry from her findings with conversation. The boy seemed to be doing well, despite the disaster of the first Quidditch match of the season. _And the Dementors._ The loss of his broomstick was hitting him hard, as it was one of the few things he’d ever owned. But only a few days later, the promise of lessons in magical defense against the cowled creatures had buoyed his spirits. Edmund had thanked Lupin for agreeing to it. Other than that, Harry’d never been to this part of the castle before, but as Hogwarts was huge, that wasn’t so surprising.

“Switch sides?”

They were always careful of how they moved around the dog. If voices were too loud, movements too sudden, it would freeze, and begin to tremble, and bolt at the next motion or sound.

But slowly, surely, it was beginning to lose these reflexes. _Beginning to trust._ At least that they wouldn’t hurt it.

“There,” Lucy sighed. “A good rinse, now, and a drying, and we should be set.”

The animal stood stock-still, head lowered, as it was doused once more. Resigned to getting soaked – _Like I’m not already? He gave us no trouble. It was all Lucy . . . I should have known._ Edmund gathered the animal up and out of the tub.

Towels warm from the hearth rubbed briskly over black fur, not giving the dog the chance to balk.

“There,” his sister breathed, pleased.

Edmund blinked. The change from the mangy creature of before was stunning. The dog was still thin and haunted, but no longer tearfully gaunt.

A doggy sigh, then, and the animal roused. Lucy’s eyes widened. “Take cover,” she murmured, raising a towel in defense.

_What?_

Black fur flew, a few drops of water whipping through the air as the dog shook itself.

Edmund opened his eyes, felt his face pulled up into a grimace. “Better?”

A soft whuffle answered him.

Lucy grinned, translating. “Much better.”

* * *

****_(Ron)_ ** **

* * *

“Where are you off to, Harry?” Hermione, packing away her Muggle Studies homework. Ron would’ve traded with her in a heartbeat. Divination might be easy and a complete crock, but he bet that Muggle Studies this year was _interesting_. Mostly because of those Muggles.

But Hermione didn’t think they were. He guessed she might have a point – regular Muggles weren’t anywhere near as . . . well, _normal_ as the Pevensies. Though that was weird too.

Harry slammed his books shut, dumping them in his bag. “PevensieTower,” he shrugged.

Someone had started using the name for the area the Muggles were in when they weren’t doing  . . . whatever it was they were here to do. Aside from Lucy, helping Hagrid with Care of Magical Creatures. Ron had never really seen her brothers. Though he would treasure the story of how the older one had taken out Malfoy for, oh, the next five years or so.

“What for?” There was a trip to Hogsmeade coming up - the last for the year, as Christmas break was coming up soon – _Oh. Oops. Bloody hell._

“Isn’t that in the teacher’s wing?”

Harry grinned at her. “Yes. But I’m helping Miss Pevensie with something. And her brothers are really nice.”

“With what?”

“Jeez, Hermione.” Ron couldn’t help it. “Suspicious much?”

Hermione pinked.

It wasn’t that she distrusted them, Ron knew. _But she doesn’t trust them, either._ And knowing Hermione, she was on to something. _But not necessarily something sinister. Though with our record –_

“Look, Hermione, it’s no big deal,” Harry shrugged. “She found a stray dog in the ForbiddenForest, and is helping it get better. Its owner was probably a wizard, in Hogsmeade, and she asked me to help. It seems to like wizards more than Muggles. I’d take you and Ron to see it, but –”

“But?”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“But it’s been mistreated,” Harry said bluntly. “Miss Pevensie doesn’t want to expose it to a lot of different people yet. It’s well behaved, but still afraid of stuff like loud noises. She doesn’t want to stress it.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Of _course_ it does, Hermione.” _You’d think she didn’t have a pet of her own. Though that mad cat is more like a wild tiger than a pet._ A mental check confirmed that he’d left Scabbers curled on his bed, safe in the boys’ dormitory.

He narrowed his eyes at the two approaching figures. When Fred and George were skulking like _that_ , something was about to bite someone, hard. _It had better not be me . . ._ though there wasn’t much he could do if it was. _At least it won’t be Ginny. Mum’ll kill them._ And after what she had gone through her first year – the whole family had spent last summer picking up the pieces. Fred and George included.

“Harry,” Fred murmured, eyes darting around the common room. It was empty but for them. He and Hermione’d hung back a bit before getting ready to go to Hogsmeade.

_But why are Fred and George still here?_

“We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” said Fred, with a mysterious wink. Ron caught the glance his brother gave him and Hermione, and had the sudden urge to bang his head on the table. _Here it comes . . ._ “I guess there’s no help for it,” Fred sighed.

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” George said. And he handed over a ratty bit of parchment that had definitely seen better days. “We wanted to wait until you were alone to give it to you -”

“ – But then we figured you’d probably tell them anyway, so -”

“Happy Christmas, Harry!”

Clearly puzzled, Harry took it. _I wouldn’t._

“The secret to our success,” George proclaimed fondly.

“And what does Harry need with a bit of old parchment?” Hermione was looking for the trick, too. _At least I’m not the only one who thinks that’s going to explode in our faces!_

“A bit of old parchment!” Fred was wounded. And the twins proceeded to tell their tale of the acquisition of the Marauders’ Map, complete with sound effects.

Ron stared. _They’ve gotten_ good _. . . ._

“You’re winding me up,” Harry decided.

_No, really?_

“Oh, really?”  George grinned. Ron’s eyes widened. _Oh, they can’t possibly be –_

A wand flicked out, touched paper. _“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”_ Lines of ink spread out, and Ron peered over Harry’s shoulder.

_\- telling the truth. Whoa!_

**Mssrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs**

**Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers**

**Are Proud to Present**

**The Marauder’s Map**

 

And every detail of Hogwarts castle, minute and perfect, was laid out on the paper in front of them. Ron goggled.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this? I’m your brother!”

Fred shrugged. George smirked at him. Ron scowled. _They are_ so _dead. Just as soon as I figure out how._ And how to keep them from retaliating. He hadn’t lived with them this long to get killed in a prank war now. Unless they went out first.

Hermione’s face was stern. “You’re not going to use that, Harry!”

“’Course he is, Hermione,” George said briskly. “That’s why we gave it to him. Don’t forget to wipe it when you’re done, Harry -”

“ – Or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly.

“Just tap it again and say ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

“So, young Harry,” said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

“See you in Honeydukes,” George said, winking.

“You can’t possibly be thinking of going!” Hermione barely waited for the portrait-hole to swing closed behind his brothers.

“Oh, come on, Harry! Look! Some of the tunnels lead out of Hogwarts, right into Hogsmeade!”

And if he was Harry – _I’d do it. Definitely!_

But his best friend was looking very uncomfortable, and he tapped the paper with his wand. “Mischief managed.”

Inked lines disappeared, and Ron blinked. “But Harry -”

“I can’t.” Harry looked so miserable, Ron didn’t push him. “I made a promise.”

Hermione looked relieved.

“All right,” Ron said. Having Hermione around was great, really, but sometimes she could be so – well. “We’ll bring you loads of stuff, from Zonko’s, and some butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta’s, and everything.”

“It’s not so bad,” said Harry. He stuffed the parchment into his pocket. “I gotta go.”

“Bye, Harry,” said Hermione quietly. “See you later.”

“Bye.”

* * *

****_(Peter)_ ** **

* * *

“Happy Christmas, Lucy, Edmund.”

“Happy Christmas, Peter! Happy Christmas, Ed!”

“Happy Christmas,” Edmund agreed.

Still in their pyjamas, the three Pevensies had gathered in their common room. The dog lay by the fire, which he’d just fanned to life.

The house-elves had decorated in here, a little, but Peter had firmly insisted that they not put up a tree. The Pevensies had their own Christmas tradition to uphold.

But there was food, waiting for them. Hot cereal, pastries, juice and fruit. Something for the dog, as well. Though only remnants and plates were left. It was just about time.

“What do you think?” Peter asked, looking to his brother and sister. “Get ready to go?”

Lucy scrambled to her feet as Edmund nodded.

Moments later, they were all dressed and hurrying into their winter clothes.

“Peter?”

He hadn’t heard Edmund sound so hesitant in quite awhile. “Yeah, Ed?”

“I’d like to invite some of the children to come with us.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” And he did. “We’ll stop by the common rooms on our way out, then.”

Brown eyes shone. “Thanks, Peter.”

He shook his head. “It’s a wonderful idea, Edmund.” He grabbed his scarf, and looked to Lucy. “Ready?”

She had coaxed the dog into a collar she had found somewhere. _Hogsmeade, probably._ Running her fingers through his coat, she nodded. They hadn’t been sure if the animal had enough fat stores to weather a long stay outdoors, but it had been eating voraciously. Lu gave it several small meals a day, and the dog was steadily putting back weight.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Right then. Lu, go to Gryffindor. Ed, check out the Slytherin common room? I’ll go to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Meet you in the courtyard in half an hour. That should give them enough time to get ready, if they want to come.”

When he met up with them in the courtyard some time later, he had with him one first-year and two sixth-year Hufflepuffs, and three sisters from Ravenclaw, of various years.

Behind Lucy, Harry grinned at him, then turned to mutter to his friends. Peter raised a brow. _And only one Slytherin._ Well, ten children shouldn’t be too much for them to keep track of.

_Twelve children,_ he corrected himself, dodging a snowball. Edmund smirked at him. _And one dog._ Which, he smiled to see, had jumped happily up on Harry, and was wagging its tail.

He cleared his throat, and waited. To his surprise, all eyes turned his way. _That was easier than I thought it would be._ “Happy Christmas,” he smiled.

“Happy Christmas!” A joyous roar reached him.

“My family and I have a bit of a tradition for this time of year. We’re happy that you decided to join us.” He grinned, but grew serious. “We’re going to take you on a pretty long walk, and it will be off school grounds. Don’t worry – we won’t be going anywhere near Dementors, or the ForbiddenForest, though it may look that way. So if you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine. No one here has to come. If you want to go back inside, just let us know now.”

He looked around, and though a few of the younger ones looked to the older children, no one went back to the castle.

“Nice try, Peter, but you’re not getting rid of us,” Edmund joked. He lobbed a snowball at his brother. The children laughed as Peter ducked, slipped, and landed in a snowdrift.

“Revenge will be mine,” he threatened, working his way out. _Cold! Yikes!_

“Save it for someone who’s scared of you, Peter,” Edmund stuck out his tongue. Just in time to catch a snowball.

Lucy grinned at them both. “Save it, o' brothers mine. We have somewhere to be.”

“Later,” Peter promised.

“You’re on!”

Their sister shut them up the surest way she knew. “ _Ding-dong merrily on high, in heav’n the bells are ringing! Ding-dong verily the sky, is riv’n with angels singing!”_

Trading smiles, Peter and Edmund joined in on the ‘ _Gloria’_.

“ _– Hosannah in excelsis!”_

A few new voices, wavering, added themselves the second round. Peter smiled at Hermione, Harry, and the few others familiar with the Muggle carol.

“ _E’en so here below, below, let steeple bells be rungen! And io, io, io, by priest and people sungen!”_         

Harmony bounced off the stone walls behind them, echoing out onto the snow-covered lawns of Hogwarts. Voices threaded music and words together, cocooning them all in the glorious sound.

“That’s pretty,” commented one of the Ravenclaws when the carol drew to a close.

“That’s only the beginning,” Edmund grinned. “What Christmas music do wizards sing?”

An hour and a half of trading carols and traditions brought them to the grove, deep within the forest, that the Pevensies had chosen for this year. Boisterous laughter rang through snow-covered pines, accompanied by a few happy barks.

Peter smiled. _Yes. This was a wonderful idea, Ed._

And he took Lucy’s small satchel from her. “All right there, Lu?” He and Edmund were carrying emergency supplies. But Lucy always carried the parts of their tradition they couldn’t find or make from the forest.

“Yes,” she smiled, looking to see the ten children merrily involved in a snowball fight throughout the clearing. She raised her voice. “We’re stopping here. Don’t leave the clearing!”

“Yes, Miss Pevensie!”

He grinned.

But the mock-battle dissolved on its own, as curiosity overcame various members of each side.

“Peter? What’s that?”

_Have you truly never seen something like this before, Harry?_ “Would you like to help?” he asked the teenager. The black dog had left off playing in the snow, sticking close to the teen’s side.

At the nod, he handed over one end of the string of cranberries, and indicated the tall, bushy pine that had been singled out by Ed and Lu. “This one, I think.”

Soon, Ron and Hermione and the Slytherin – a fifth-year named Cecily – were winding strands of popcorn and cranberries as high as they could reach.

“Pinecones!” Edmund announced, returning triumphantly from his foray into the forest with the Ravenclaw sisters. The young Hufflepuff, Derek, was clinging to his back like a monkey.

And in no time, the tree was decorated. _Not glitteringly magnificent like the trees in the Great Hall, but beautiful in its own way._ And that was more than enough.

“We have just enough,” Lucy murmured. And each child received a white candle. The three Pevensies only needed one, anyway.

Peter looked at the young faces. “Where we’re from,” he began quietly, “All life is precious – especially life that we take for granted. So we do not cut down trees at Christmastime. Instead, we come to the forest, and bedeck one tree, in observance of the holiday. It is our gift to the woods, and the creatures in it.”

“When we – returned to England,” Edmund picked up the thread, “We were your age. The people were at war, and there were shortages. For several years, there were no Christmas trees in London.”

“On Christmas Eve, we would light a candle for our loved ones,” Lucy explained. _For Father, in the trenches. For the Professor, and the Macready. For Tumnus, and Phillip, for our people and our friends. For Aslan._ “To remind ourselves of what we had been given.” She smiled, and the gentle expression reminded him of their sister. _Susan_. They had been lighting candles for her for – _don’t think of it._ “We would be honored if you would join us. But if you’re not comfortable, or don’t wish to take part, that’s fine.”

From the interested gazes, Peter doubted that.

Fire flared against his fingers.

“Susan,” Lucy murmured, as Edmund set the candle firmly in the snow.

_Susan._ He wrapped an arm around his little sister where she leant between them. _Aslan, watch over her. Until I can take up my duty to my family once more – please, Alsan. Protect her._

But the tradition wasn’t over yet. 

_“‘Twas in the moon of wintertime, when all the birds had fled,_

_That God the Lord of all the Earth sent Angel choirs instead._

_Before their light the stars grew dim, and wandering hunters heard the hymn -_

_Jesus, your King, is born!  Jesus is born! In excelsis gloria!”_  

The youngest child came forward first. Then Harry and the dog, and Hermione, and Ron. One by one, lit candles joined the lone wick burning in the cold. The song ended, Lucy’s clear voice fading into the afternoon.

In its wake came a haunting sound, beautifully, painfully familiar. _Edmund._

Where he had acquired the _duduk_ , Peter had the feeling he’d never know. But it was the one instrument they’d found on this earth whose music reminded them of home. And as he added his voice to that of his sister, it _felt_ like home.

* * *

**_(Albus Dumbledore)_**  

* * *

_I wonder where they went._

Edmund had gotten his permission for the short trip without going into specifics.

_I doubt they’d tell me, at that._

Oh, Peter hadn’t let the disagreement between them stand for long. But it was made very clear that he had broken trust with them, and had yet to earn it back. Under his beard, he grimaced.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he had become very aware that they were not the individuals he remembered from fifty years ago. Those children had been just as changed by time as he – _only it barely shows._

Something to keep in mind.

_I overstepped my bounds._

But the children had come back happy, and thoughtful, and looking at the Great Hall’s Christmas decorations with new eyes. Bringing the Pevensies here was the right decision.

Especially since he’d heard more disturbing news about the increased activities of the Death Eaters in recent weeks. _Rumors weren’t enough to go on last year. But now, there’ve been sightings. And it won’t be long before they grow bold enough to attack –_

The only place for Voldemort to go, after his ignominous defeat two years ago, was the ForbiddenForest. He was certain of it. _It is the only place he can truly hide. And he is trapped there, for now._

Hagrid told him of the many dead snakes he encountered, and Dumbledore was very aware of Voldemort’s affinity for serpents. _A Parseltongue._ The situation seemed clear enough, but it was only in stasis. _And with the break-out_ – and subsequent disappearance – _of Sirius Black . . . Voldemort’s most faithful servant is free to seek him out. If he has not already discovered him._

But the Dementors knew their orders concerning Black. And he had heard nothing. _And for today, it is Christmas._

More students than he expected had stayed this Christmas. _Usually there are only a few, but perhaps our guests have something to do with that._ One of the two first-years here was a Muggle-born from a broken home, who had been working with Edmund and his sister since the beginning of the year. Most of the others knew the Pevensies a little more than in passing, with the exception of the one Slytherin.

“Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!” He pushed himself out of his chair. The Pevensies were exchanging curious looks as the glitteringly green, sequined dress glided toward them.

“I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster.” He smiled into his beard at the misty, vague response. “And to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness. . . .”

“Certainly, certainly. Let me draw you up a chair - ”

Some small magic later, he managed to head off the impending argument between Minerva and Sibyll. There was good reason why the two avoided one another.

“But where is dear Professor Lupin?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Pevensies exchange glances. _So he told you? Good. I’m glad for you, Remus._ The man had been shattered by the destruction of his childhood friendships. It was past time for healing.

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” he indicated that they should start serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”

He saw Hermione’s eyes narrow. Swallowed a spoonful of soup. _Clever girl. I should probably speak with her -_

_Ah, thank you, Lucy._ She ensnared Minerva in conversation, heading off any incipient battles between the two professors. _And there are many of those. It is Christmas, after all._  And incidentally leaving Peter at the mercy of Sibyll’s attention.

“Ah, yes. And who might you be? You are far too old to be a student here.”

“My name is Peter Pevensie, Professor. I’m -”

“Ah, yes,” she interrupted. “My Inner Eye tells me that you are not a wizard – a Muggle? Most unusual, here at Hogwarts. But then, are you here for a more hidden reason?”

“Actually, no.” Political smoothness, in that voice. _A lie. Peter dislikes telling them._  But Lucy and Edmund were too busy dealing with his Transfiguration and Potions teachers, respectively, to come to his aid. “The Headmaster requested that my family and I attend Hogwarts this semester, to expand the Muggle Studies Program.”

Sibyll _tutt_ ed morosely. “But then, the Inner Eye is rarely mistaken. I foresee a great many unusual occurrences looming on the future . . .”

Peter stared.

A whisper, down the table. _“What is she smoking?”_

Several nearby students – just the Muggle-borns, he noticed – snorted into their tripe.

A _thump._

_“Edmund!”_

“Ah, Sibyll,” Dumbledore let Peter off the hook. The eldest Pevensie glared at his younger brother. “I wonder if you could tell me the state of the tower? Filch has said that you were having problems with a few of the heat-spells?”

* * *

****_(Harry)_ ** **

* * *

“Hi!”

Tail wagging, the black dog jumped up on him as Edmund let him through the portrait.

“How are you, Harry?”

He managed a small smile. “I’m okay.” He saw that Edmund was wearing shoes, and a sweater. “Where are you going?”

Edmund smiled. “Just going to see Professor Lupin. Go right on in, Peter’s in the common room.”

Peter looked up from where he was sprawled on the couch. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

He rubbed his hands in black fur. A warm lick to his hand gave him courage. Peter made room on the couch, putting aside _Hogwarts, A History._

“I thought only Hermione had ever read that,” he said after a bit.

Peter laughed. “No. I’d actually just gotten through the section on the Chamber of Secrets.” Amiable blue eyes glanced at the text. “I’d say they need to update that in the next edition. At least, from what I’ve heard from Ginny.”

Harry perked up, still rubbing black fur. “You know Ginny Weasley?”

Peter shrugged. “A little. She went through a lot, last year. Edmund and Lucy are trying to help.”

“Oh.”

Black fur pressed against his leg, a doggy muzzle resting on his knee. Pale eyes captured his.

“What’s bothering you, Harry?”

He didn’t take his eyes from the dog. He told Peter about Dementor lessons with Professor Lupin. About managing to get hold of a replacement broom for the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, practicing so hard. _Winning was the best thing that’s happened lately._  About the blow-up between Hermione and Ron, about Crookshanks and Scabbers. And Hagrid’s advice.

“He’s certainly right,” Peter said quietly. “People _can_ be a bit stupid about their pets. That sounds like a right mess, Harry.”

“I know,” he groaned, slumping against the couch. The dog whined, a little, pressed closer. He rubbed its fur, grateful for the unconditional comfort. “What can I do about it?”

Peter grimaced. “The hardest thing anyone has to learn, Harry, is when they have to step back, and not get involved.”

“What?!” He sat bolt upright. The dog yelped, and he relaxed his grip on black fur, immediately remorseful. A few moments of whispered apologies were rewarded with another soft lick.

“I know it goes against everything you are to ignore when someone you care for is hurting,” Peter said gently. Blue eyes were distant. “And I know it’s difficult. But aside from talking to Ron, and making sure you don’t neglect your friendship with Hermione, there’s little you can do.”

_I wish that didn’t make so much sense._

“Unfortunately, it’s up to them to sort this out. The only thing you can do is be the best friend you can, to both of them, until they do.”

The dog whoofed. Harry blinked. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “But I don’t like it.”

“Nor should you,” said Peter firmly.

And to the last thing that was troubling him. He reached into his pocket, where he’d been keeping Fred and George’s ‘gift’ to him – the one he hadn’t used yet.

“What’s that?” Peter had his head to the side, and was staring at the parchment. “There’s something – a bit odd about it.”

“The Marauder’s Map,” Harry said wearily. _Another mess that I don’t know what to do about. I wish I could – but I promised Lucy that –_ He’d promised her that when he had the free time, like during the Hogsmeade trips, he would come and help her take care of the dog. And he didn’t regret it, not once. He just wished that he could go to Hogsmeade, sometime. “ _I solemnly swear I am up to no good._ ”

Peter raised a brow at the incantation. “Well.”

Harry blushed.

Peter smiled, and one blue eye winked at him before turning to the parchment. “Well, that’s something,” he said quietly. “May I?”

Harry handed over the Map, turning his head as the portrait hole opened. “Peter, I’ve brought Remus -”

The room exploded into chaos. Between one blink and the next, Harry found himself yanked off the couch, thrust behind Edmund. The portrait snapped shut, both Edmund and Peter dropping into a familiar fighting stance.

“Remus, where?”

“Professor Lupin, what -”

“That,” Lupin said tightly, wand aimed at black fur, “is _not_ a dog.”

Harry looked at the Marauder’s Map. Himself, Lupin – and strangely, neither Peter nor Edmund showed up. But someone else did. Not the dog, as yet lacking a name.

_Sirius Black_.

* * *

****_(Remus)_ ** **

* * *

**  
**   


_Why?_

_How_ was easy enough. The Pevensies were good people, and for all their exposure to the Wizarding world, there was a lot they didn’t know about magic.

_Time to get some answers._

“Sirius.” His throat was tight. For all his talks with Edmund and Peter, the pain hadn’t gone away. _‘Twelve years’ worth of pain isn’t going to just disappear,’ Peter told him. ‘It can’t. It’s got nowhere to go. But it will find a way out, eventually.’_ “Don’t make me force you to change form.”

He could do it – they all could.

And the black-furred creature at the other end of the wand  . . . _rippled._

“So that’s where my shirt went,” Edmund muttered. But his voice was cold.

The man who appeared in its place was cleaner than the prisoner who had escaped Azkaban. Thin, but not much more so than he had always been. Muggle clothes hung off a frame that was just starting to put back muscle. His hair was shaggy, but shorter than it had been – he’d cut it himself. Light blue eyes blinked out of a pale, clean-shaven face.

“Remus.”

A voice out of the past.

Pale eyes turned to the boy behind him.

“Leave Harry out of this,” he snarled.

“Remus.” A pained whisper. _Sirius was always a good actor_. Had to have been, to have betrayed them. Black seemed to brace himself, and met his gaze without flinching. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not?” He took a calming breath, but couldn’t stop shaking from rage. _How_ dare _he. . . ._ “Because I think that you turned Lily and James over to Voldemort to die. I think you gave Harry over to him, that you killed Peter Pettigrew when he chased you down -”

“No.”

He opened his mouth –

“ _No spells._ ” Peter, with a carefully expressionless face and a white-knuckled grip on his brother’s arm. Edmund looked ready to jump on Sirius, and his face was drawn with rage. “Edmund,” he murmured. The man didn’t take his eyes off them. “Lock the portrait. _No one_ comes in or out.”

The dark haired man moved to the entrance, not only murmuring a word to the portrait, but physically blocking it. From his expression, the only way anyone would pass would be _through_ him.

“You killed my parents.”

Remus winced at the thin voice. Harry had his own wand out, and trained on Black. “You were their best friend, and you _killed them!_ ”

Black stood firm, but pure agony flared in pale eyes. “No,” he murmured. More loudly, “No. I didn’t.”

Remus snorted.

The eyes found his. The same blue from memory, though pain had replaced the laughter he was accustomed to seeing there. He could find no trace of madness, try as he might.

“I did not betray James and Lily.”

“Really?” Remus sneered. “Then who - ”

“Peter.”

The honesty stole his thoughts, stole whatever he had been about to say. He looked, but he couldn’t see the lie. Only emptiness, and soul-crushing pain under thin defiance. _But that doesn’t make any sense! Unless –_

“You . . . switched?” he murmured. Awful realization engulfed him. “Without telling me?”  

Sirius looked away. Swallowed hard. Nodded. “We thought – _I_ thought it was the perfect plan . . . a bluff . . . Voldemort was sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use Peter as Secret-Keeper.”

_Oh my God._

Memories raced through his brain, tinged with this speck of knowledge – and events long past shone in different light.

And everything he’d thought he’d known about the last thirteen years came crashing in. “Because you thought I was the spy.” _How am I so calm?_ But he was freezing.

Pale eyes closed. “Forgive me, Remus.”

And he _knew_. _The truth?_ Somehow he was sitting on the couch, his wand eased from shaking fingers. Someone was speaking to Harry, guiding the boy next to him. Sirius slumped on the hearth, back to the wall. Pale eyes were distant, focused inward.

“Why come here?” Peter Pevensie, who had collected their wands and was holding them, out of everyone’s reach. Just in case.

“Pettigrew,” Sirius said wearily. “He’s here.” And a much-folded, bedraggled scrap of newspaper was passed to him. A picture, of the boy Ron Weasley’s family. And his pet rat, clutching Ron’s shoulder and squeaking in distress. Scabbers. _Peter._

“What?” Harry’s voice was harsh. Of all the people here, he deserved an explanation the most. “Who’s Pettigrew?”

“Remus?” Pale eyes, from one he’d thought lost forever, pleaded with him.

A tired knowledge lived deep in those eyes. _Oh, Sirius!_ His best friend – a man he had hated beyond endurance, for over a decade – had lived a hell deeper than words.

He nodded, and they slipped shut in relief. “All of this starts,” he relaxed fisted hands, “with my becoming a werewolf.”

Harry jerked.

“None of this could have happened if I hadn’t been bitten . . . and if I hadn’t been so foolhardy . . . .”

_Four boys, the best of friends. Brothers. Willing to do anything for one another – live, risk it all, even die, for each other. And when they’d discovered he was a werewolf, they didn’t stop until they could help. Not by curing, or ameliorating, his curse. But just by being there._

“They all became Animagi. Your father, Harry, was a stag. Sirius, as you know, can take the shape of a dog. Peter was, appropriately, a rat.” He paused. “We called ourselves the Marauders.”

A green gaze turned to the Map. Lily’s eyes, shining out of James’ face. He was truly an echo of his parents.

“Illegal, yes,” Remus nodded. “But for years, there were three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts.”

And he thought he might have figured most of it out. “So when your parents needed a Secret-Keeper, everyone knew it would be Sirius.”

The convict focused on them. “I convinced Lily and James to use Pettigrew. They never would have done it if I hadn’t suggested it. But I thought I could draw attention away from them, and Peter.” Black hair shook slowly. “The day – after – ”

“ _You_ chased _Peter_ down.”

A tired nod. “I was the only one who knew that they’d switched. But when I caught up to him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself – and cut off his own finger before running down into the sewer with all the other rats.”

“The biggest bit of Pettigrew they found was his finger.” He zeroed in on the convict. “Faking his own death, and pinning it all on you.” _God._ But one thing still didn’t make sense to Remus, gnawing at his senses. “But in the trial -”

Sirius stared at him. “What trial?”

“Yours.” Remus didn’t like the bitterness that appeared in pale eyes.

“There was none.” Pale eyes blinked listlessly. “Aurors and Hit Wizards showed up quite quickly to arrest me. I had a fair idea of the procedure, my rights – none of it held. They wanted a confession, not justice.” Sirius shrugged. “I couldn’t give them what they wanted, so they moved to more . . . _direct_ methods. But the truth wasn’t going to change.”

Horror filled him. “But surely -”

“With Voldemort’s defeat by Harry, Fudge wanted to say the war was over for good. By locking away the monster that handed over the Potters to the Dark Lord, he could do that. The Ministry had what it needed – a scapegoat. With my family, my history, it was easy to make it look like I’d been a traitor since before the beginning. Little things like right and wrong got pushed to the wayside.”

A hissed breath from behind. Remus started – he had forgotten the Pevensies.

_They locked an innocent man in Azkaban for life – if Sirius hadn’t –_ “How did you escape?” But he thought he had some idea. “Padfoot?”

Sirius shivered. Laughed, a low, broken sound. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”

And he was sitting by his friend’s side, with no idea of how he’d gotten there, only that _pack-hurt_ was so thick in the air he was choking on it.

“I knew I was innocent.” Muffled words against his shoulder. “It wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t suck it out of me. It helped me stay sane, helped me keep my powers. So I could turn into a dog, when things got too bad. Fudge came to inspect Azkaban, and I saw that picture . . . it lit a fire in my head. So when I got the chance to escape . . . I was thin, thin enough to slip through the bars. Dementors can’t see, so they couldn’t tell anything more than that my emotions were  . . . less complex, as a dog. They only thought I was losing my mind, like the rest . . . . I swam to shore as a dog, made my way to Hogwarts. I was staying in the Forest.”

_Starving,_ Remus thought.

Sirius’ eyes were dark. “I was . . . very weak. I couldn’t hunt – not well enough to catch anything. Someone left out food – the Care of Magical Creatures class?” He shook his head. “I ran when she saw me, I think. But -” he licked dry lips. “I think I knew I was starving. It was – getting hard to move, to do anything but sleep. Harder to wake up.”

“God, Padfoot.” He squeezed a thin shoulder. A moment of indecision later, Sirius relaxed into his grip. 

“But when I checked, the next day, just in case – there was food again. So I kept going back. And one day, I saw Harry there – I didn’t believe it.” He looked up, then, beyond Remus, to the two brothers still standing between them and the door. “And then I had the chance to get inside – it was cold, winter was coming . . . I’m sorry. I won’t say I didn’t know what I was doing. I did. Things are . . . different, in dog form. But I thought I might have a chance to get inside, get to Pettigrew. Before they caught me.”

At the thought, Remus balked. _No!_ Sirius was _not_ going back to that horrible place!

The two Pevensies exchanged a speaking glance; what might have passed between them, Remus couldn’t guess at.

Edmund sat next to Harry, whose green eyes were dull in a pale face.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

“Scabbers – Pettigrew is dead,” he said dully.

Sirius jerked as if hit.

“What?”

At the sharpness in his voice, Harry looked to Remus. His eyes slid away, to fix on Black. “I’m sorry,” he managed, voice trembling. “Crookshanks – my friend Hermione’s cat – ate him.”

Sirius seemed to lose all energy. Pale eyes slipped closed, and Remus was very aware of each breath that lifted the thin chest. As if the next might be the last . . . Fists clenched, then opened. And when Sirius’ eyes blinked open, there was a dead emptiness residing there that shattered his heart.

“How do you know?” Peter, voice thoughtful. He came forward from the door, and handed them back their wands.

A memory of something slightly out of place rose up. Ron and Hermione, at desks on either side of Harry in his class, not speaking to one another. _Well. It does make sense. Little Peter was always quite good at sowing discord._ “I assume this is why your friends Ron and Hermione are so angry at one another?”

Harry nodded unsteadily. “Yeah. There was blood, on the bed where Ron left him, and some orange cat hairs. Crookshanks must’ve gotten out of the girls’ dormitory, and gotten to him.”

“So you never saw the body?” Peter, blue eyes intent, one hand on a blond-bearded chin.

Remus wondered at his line of questioning. _What does he think he’s going to find?_

“No. Why?” Harry managed to ask.

Peter shook his head. “I’m a criminal profiler.” From their puzzled expressions, Peter smiled wryly. “I work with the British Muggle government. Basically, what we do is use a criminal’s past actions to try to figure out how they think. So that the authorities can deal with them effectively, and perhaps to try to predict what they’ll do.”

“That all sounds a bit . . . woolly.”

Edmund laughed.

Peter gave his brother a _look._ “It is, to a certain extent,” he admitted. “But it’s also a good way to classify and deal with certain types of criminals.”

“But how is that going to do anything?” Remus wanted to know.

Peter took a deep breath. “Granted, I don’t know very much about this Pettigrew,” he said slowly. “From what I gather, he’s a bit of the timid, cowardly sort?”

Remus nodded. “Peter was always hanging around someone stronger than he was. In our school days, that was Sirius, James, and me.” He shook his head. “He was small for his age, and pretty awful at most magic, as well. I have no idea how he got into Gryffindor, the way he would cower sometimes.”

“He spent twelve years hiding from the world as a rat,” Sirius said. His face was set. Remus looked at him worriedly. _He’s not alright, for all he tries to look it._ Thirteen years of separation couldn’t erase over a decade of friendship. _I can still read you, Sirius. Even through that front you put up to fool the world._ “In Azkaban – a lot of Voldemort’s supporters are very angry with him. They think the traitor double-crossed them; after all, it was on Peter’s word that Voldemort went to find Lily and James, and met his downfall there. If he’d showed his face in the Wizarding world, it would prove the story that put me away to be a lie. And it would have set him up to get taken out by all Voldemort’s supporters who are still free, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways. . . .”

“And he faked his death before,” the blond man murmured. “Well.”

“Peter?” Edmund, looking to his older brother.

_What pieces do they have that we don’t?_

“I can’t be certain.” Warning, in every line of his body. ‘ _Don’t get your hopes up’_ , was what he really meant. “But just from what you’ve told me – government training is very thorough. And part of that – well, rumors of one’s death can be greatly exaggerated.” Another look to his brother that Remus couldn’t understand. “I don’t believe in death unless I see the body,” he said bluntly.

Edmund flinched.

“Given what I know of Pettigrew – he’s faked his death once, an innocent was blamed for it, and it worked – he was able to slink away from any danger. Odds are, he’s done it again.” Peter walked over to Harry, held out a hand. “May I see the Marauder’s Map?”

           

 

                        


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

****_1941_ ** **

* * *

****_(Lucy)_ ** **

* * *

“Peter?”

They’d stayed up waiting, despite the Macready’s verdicts. The Professor himself had told her that they wouldn’t sleep until their sister came home. And then Peter came in from the stable, carrying Susan, the both of them soaked –

The Macready had taken charge. _Thank goodness!_ Little as she was now, Lucy couldn’t get Susan to bed, and in warm clothes, by herself.

_Edmund bullied him into his pyjamas. Thank Aslan – we don’t need the both of them ill._

Susan had caught a chill – was running a fever, the Macready said. Lucy, hand on her sister’s hot brow, could feel it.

“What happened?”  The Professor was sitting in Susan’s room with them.

And she listened in ever-growing dismay as the story unfolded before them. When Peter finished, he looked drained as he never had – except, perhaps, at the Battle of Beruna Ford, when the three of them had been crouched over Edmund’s still body, praying for her cordial to do its work.

The unlit pipe wobbled, was clenched firm between teeth. The Professor _harrump_ ed _._ “I’ll tell Finola that she went for an evening walk, and met a small mishap in the woods. It was luck that you found her, Peter. And of course, you are all too distraught to speak of it.”

Like the best of lies, it was mostly truth. She could only be grateful he was sparing Peter from having to lie to the Macready in person. _Though in his mind there’s little difference._ She ignored the fact that the same held true for her.

“When the weather clears, I’m going back to the castle.”

_Peter?_

“Why?” Strident demand.

_Thank you, Edmund!_

Blue eyes found theirs, held. “I need to inform Professor Dumbledore that we will not be returning there, for the foreseeable future. The man is responsible, and would be concerned if we were to disappear without a word. Worrying him unnecessarily would be unkind.”

_Not to mention, it would attract the wrong kind of attention,_ Lucy though judiciously.

“I’m coming with you.” Edmund, solemn and stern, despite the pyjamas they were all wearing.

Peter didn’t even argue. “Thanks, Ed.”

Her eyes widened. _He must be tired._ As if everything else that had happened tonight weren’t proof of that.

A sudden concern came to mind. “But what will we tell Susan?”

* * *

**_(Susan)_  ** 

* * *

 

Warm. Soft. Where?  

“Susan?”

“Wh -”

Lucy’s brown eyes, hovering over her. “Thank Aslan,” her little sister breathed. Damp warmth, soothing, caressing her face. “You’ve been asleep for over a day.”

Susan stared, too tired to form words. The rim of a cup against her lips. She drank – cool wetness against her throat. _What’s going on?_

“You’ve been ill,” Lucy said quietly. “You were hit on the head – and then, soaked in the storm.”

Events flooded back. Fear of the storm, a rush of _safety_ , _delight_ , _warmth_ on reaching the castle. Reaching Tom. And the feast – so wonderful! She’d been able to forget the pain that was always with her. _The loss of Narnia._ Shove that thought away. She’d been . . . happy.

Her breath came in quick pants. Lucy noticed, tried to soothe. “By the time Peter got you back to the Mansion -”

_Peter!_ Memory. Red-hot rage, coursing in her veins.

“Where’s Peter!” she demanded shrilly, discovering her voice hadn’t vanished. “I want to talk to him!”

“Susan – it’s the middle of the night. He’s asleep -”

“I want to talk to him!”

“Susan -”

“Lucy! Either you get him for me, or I’ll get up and get him myself!”

Her little sister gave her a helpless look, but read the pure intent in her eyes. “All right,” she said softly. “Stay calm, Susan. I’ll get him. Please, lie back down?”

“Peter,” she insisted stubbornly. “I need to talk to him.” _Oh, yes, I need to talk to him. The nerve! First – to practically forbid me to go, and then – to chase me down – fight with Tom . . ._ _._ Rage robbed her of every coherent thought but one. _What’s he playing at? He’s not High King anymore!_

Her eyes flew to the opening door. Her brother, blond hair on end, fingers resting on the handle.

“Just what did you think you were doing!”

A long silence. Peter met her gaze levelly, but didn’t say anything.

She had no patience for this. “Answer me, Peter!”

Blue eyes looked at her. “It wasn’t love, Susan,” he said softly.

“As if you would know!”

He flinched, and in her rage she was glad for it. _He has no idea what I feel for Tom! None!_

“I have informed Dumbledore of what has happened,” he said levelly. “And that we will not be returning to Hogwarts again.”

_What, does he think he still has the power to command me? This is_ not _Narnia, and it_ never _will be!_

“You’re not High King anymore, Peter!”

“Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen.” But it was only an echo, and held none of Aslan’s might. And Peter was only her brother, not King of anything, anymore.

Her words caught him, on his way out the door. “That only works if we both believe it.”

* * *

****_1993_ ** **

* * *

****_(Edmund)_****

* * *

 

_All in all, she’s taking it quite well. Except for wanting to march across the castle to string up Pettigrew before the entire Wizarding world. By his toenails._

But at least they’d been able to get Lu to listen to reason. Even if they’d had to practically sit on her to do it.

_No_ , Edmund held back a smile. He looked at Lucy, talking with his brother on the settee. _Peter just had to roll out the High King. And now they’ve got even more questions that need answering._       

But that would keep, for awhile at least. Until they could refine their plan, Sirius would be staying in the PevensieTower, and whenever he wanted to go out, he could only do so as a dog. But it was doing Remus, Sirius and Harry all good to finally be able to speak together.

_Harry was thunderstruck when he found out Sirius is his godfather._ But it was binding them closer, even as he discreetly observed.

“But why can’t you just tell them the truth, like you told us?” Harry insisted. Seeing the name _Peter Pettigrew_ on the Marauder’s Map had clinched the tale – and Sirius was vindicated, in all their eyes. Remus hadn’t needed it to believe.

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy._

“The Ministry wasn’t interested in the truth when I tried to tell them, twelve years ago,” Sirius answered softly. “I doubt they’d be willing to listen to me now. Without proof, I might as well just swim back to Azkaban and make myself comfortable.” Morbid humor was sometimes the only way to work through an impossible, terrible situation.

“Not a chance this side of hell,” Remus snarled.

The two men smiled at each other.

_Neither of them can believe this is happening._ It was evident in every concerned glance, every hesitation, every quiet word. _They need time to readjust._

Luckily, this plan would give them that. Peter had lost none of his tactician’s cunning, though they had all wrought the trap together. It necessitated bringing Harry’s friends Ron and Hermione in on their plans, but Harry assured them that the two could be trusted. And after hearing about their adventures with the Sorcerer’s Stone and the Chamber of Secrets, Edmund had no trouble believing it.

After they had missed dinner – everyone was too busy still talking – the house-elves had brought food, enough for a feast when they were told that six people were wanting to eat. _I don’t understand them._ Oh, he was grateful for their help. _But to so love to slave their lives away for wizards – and Dobby is the strange one?_

He had served his people, and been served by them in turn, but subjugation had no part in it. The worst bit was that the house-elves couldn’t even feel their enslavement. And he had to wonder if trying to change things now would only do more harm than good.

“Edmund?” Lucy pulled him from his vague thoughts, with a hopeful look on her face. The _duduk_ was in her hands. “Music?”

He reached for it. “Great idea, Lu!”

Cracking his knuckles – something that always made Peter wince – he flexed his fingers once, before putting his lips to the mouthpiece. And haunting notes spilled from apricot wood.

_A Narnian lullaby._ It held none of the power here that it would have there, of course. But it was of home. _And it gladdens the soul._

He opened his eyes as the last note faded. Just in time to catch amazement from the three wizards clustered by the fire’s warmth. _Ah. Oops?_

“What was that?”

Surprisingly, it was Sirius Black. And from the look in his eyes. . . .   _Maybe the power of Narnia is not diminished in this world, after all._

“Tumnus taught you that, didn’t he?” asked Lucy quietly.

Edmund nodded. “On his reed pipe.” The _duduk_ was the only thing that came close, being a double-reed pipe as well. He looked to the men and boy, who were staring at the three Pevensies. “It was a lullaby.”

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” Harry said frankly. Awe was written on his face. “Muggle _or_ Magical.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

 Remus started. It was easy to forget Peter was there, sometimes. He pushed Edmund’s legs off the couch, making room. “Perhaps it’s time we told you who we are, and why we’re really here.”

_If you’re certain, Peter._ But Edmund was fairly sure they had nothing to fear from these. It was other members of the Wizarding world – the Ministry, in particular – that concerned him.

And the High King was looking at him from his brother’s face. “No argument from me, my King.”

And at the honorific, the wizards stared.

“My name is Peter Pevensie,” he told them. “I was born in London, in 1927.” He glanced at Remus and Sirius. “We first discovered Hogwarts near the end of 1941 – a time when your Dark Wizard, Grindelwald, was beginning his rise to power. And when a boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle was attending Hogwarts.”  

“But – that’s not possible,” Remus said slowly, looking them over. “You don’t look much older than thirty -”

“An unexpected side-effect,” Lucy broke in.

“Lu?”

But she shook her head, taking over from her brothers. “I was the one who discovered it. You see,” she smiled, “in a Mansion not far from here, there is a wardrobe . . .”    

Listening to Lucy’s voice weave the tale of their first adventures was pleasant. _Like home, again._ She’d always been the one most gifted in singing and storytelling, though they had all learned to enjoy such very quickly in Narnia.

“Of course, we have no proof,” Peter said quietly, once she was finished. His eyes hardened. “Unless a witch or wizard attempts to use a spell on us.”

“So _that’s_ how you did it!” Harry, green eyes thoughtful.

“Love for Aslan is a force stronger than magic.”

_Certainly stronger than the White Witch. The only thing to match it is the power of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea . . ._

“But you knew Voldemort?” Remus, talking to him.

Edmund laid the _duduk_ down carefully. “I didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a fourth-year, or thereabouts, but something in him reminded me of the White Witch.” He shivered. Lucy, curled next to him on the couch, dropped a soft kiss to his temple.

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know if we could have stopped what he became. I have – thought about it.” _Now that we know more of what it truly meant. Then . . . Peter, you couldn’t know. All you knew was that he was dangerous. And that was more than enough!_  “But now . . . we were just another step on the path he took to darkness.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter stiffened.

“Tom was only fourteen,” Edmund broke in. “It’s easy to look back, and say he was already on his way to becoming evil. But if he wavered from that path, even only for a short time, who now would notice?”

“Tom fancied himself in love with our sister, Susan,” Peter said tightly. “I still have only suspicions as to why she believed him, and appeared to return the feeling. But one thing I know for certain. It was _not_ love.”

Peter had never spoken to himself or Lu about this, Edmund was certain. “Peter?”

“She was . . . an obsession, to him. He may have believed that he cared for her, but it was rooted in what we are – and we are _not_ Muggles. He was fascinated by what he could discern of Narnia, within us all. It disturbed me. And the way he treated her may have been kind, and he may have claimed to change – but I could see no signs of it in his actions, when she wasn’t there.”

The body at his side was tense, unhappy. _How could I never have seen all this?_ But he had been shocked, as Lucy had, on finding himself a young child once again. For Peter and Susan, the trip back through the wardrobe had not wrought such great changes.

“It seemed to grow worse, as time went on. He used her as a shield against the rest of the world, and the few times she couldn’t come with us to Hogwarts . . .” Edmund put a hand over white knuckles. Beneath his beard, Peter’s lips were tight. “He tried to separate her out from her family. And that . . . frightened me.”

Dark eyes met Edmund’s in mute shock. “I had no idea,” Lucy murmured.

_Some of that was natural, I think. Susan was ever quiet about these things.  As for the rest . . . . I’ll bet that Peter had a hand in that. Overprotective to a fault._

“I was relieved when it finally ended,” his older brother admitted. For the benefit of their friends, he explained. “Susan ran off to meet him at the Halloween feast – through a storm. When I found out she was missing, I went to get her. I have no idea how she was planning on getting back. I think Tom would have persuaded her to stay the night.”

_What!_

“But she was thirteen!” Remus was aghast.

“The one thing you have to understand,” Peter said quietly, “is that when we returned from Narnia, we were no longer children. We may have looked to be so, but inside . . . We had ruled a country for over a decade. We had grown, lived lives that were suddenly reversed, as if they had never happened.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, soberly.

“I told her she was coming home,” Peter responded slowly. “Tom attacked me, dragged us both outside. Tried to throw me out of Hogwarts. I had promised Dumbledore that I would not harm anyone in the school, unless one of mine was in danger. But I fought back. Susan got between us, took a blow that was meant for me -” A shrug, too emotionless to be casual. “Tom was shocked by that, I think. It gave me the chance to get her, and get us away. Back to the Mansion. Susan . . . has never forgiven me for it. Though I doubt that she remembers, anymore.”

“And that’s why Dumbledore brought you here,” Harry reasoned out.

“In part,” Edmund assured him. “Tom – Voldemort – holds a grudge. When he reappeared two years ago, Dumbledore apparently set agents from the Order of the Phoenix to find us.”

“Convinced,” Lucy added dryly, “That old Muggles would be an easy target for him. It took them longer than he expected to track us down.”

“And gave him yet another reason to have us here, once he did,” Edmund took over. He looked down at himself wryly. “We’ve gotten to be very good at covering our trails. And should we encounter Voldemort once again -”

“We appear to have everything he ever wanted.” Peter’s voice was tight. “We do not age, and we are unaffected by magic, though we control none. And should he remember Susan. . . .”

“Then she is in the most danger of you all,” Remus realized. “Why is she not here, as well?”

Edmund’s eyes slipped shut. _I wish . . ._

“Susan is no longer a friend to Narnia.” Peter alone of them had the will to say it. “And for the moment, she believes we were killed in a train crash, months ago.”

_Dumbledore._ Peter may have sworn an oath to do no violence in Hogwarts, but Edmundhadn’t made any such promise. _Too bad Peter’s bound to stop me. Otherwise –_ Well. HogwartsSchool would likely be short one Headmaster.

“That’s awful,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes,” Edmund nodded, still angry. “It is.”

“I take it this wasn’t your idea, then?”

“No.” Edmund smiled tightly at Remus. “We had no idea until it was already done. And perhaps we should just leave this subject there for now.”

“Of course.” Sirius, voice and eyes understanding.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments, until Harry hesitantly cleared his throat. “Edmund?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Would you –  would you play some more music?”

Edmund found that smiling wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought it might be. “Sure.”

* * *

****_(Hagrid)_ ** **

* * *

“An’ how are yeh, then? Doin’ well?”

“Hey, Hagrid.” Harry was still beaming over winning the Quidditch Cup. “I’m good.”   _An’ why shouldn’ he? As good a player as his dad, an a sight better, I wager!_

Then he saw the two other figures on his step, and beamed. “Ron! Hermione! It’s good teh see yeh!”

Once he had them settled in with a nice cuppa, and the fudge he’d made yesterday, he looked them over carefully. “So, yeh finally made up, then?”

Ron reddened. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Cats chase rats. Scabbers was old, and he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl, now.” He sipped, turned even redder, and swallowed. “Hot,” he whimpered.

“Oh. I fergot. Milk fer yer tea, then?” The milk bottle was in the cupboard, jus’ there, an -

Hermione’s eyes widened. “No, thanks, Hagrid! Ron and Harry don’t want any either. Do you?”

“No!”

“No, Hagrid, thanks!”

Looking at the sudden bright smiles on every face, Hagrid blinked. “Yeh three are actin’ mighty strange,” he mused. _Ah, well, nothin’ a cuppa won’ cure._  “Are yeh sure yeh don’ want any milk?”

“It’s just exams,” Hermione said quickly. “They’re coming up soon, and –

“And we’re worried,” Harry jumped in.

“Really worried,” Ron added. “I mean, Snape’s going to be awful, I just know it – and Divination’s bound to be a nightmare, Trelawney said something about crystal balls -”

An’ they were off, chatterin’ away about what they were expectin’, exams comin’ up in less than a month.

“ – and Care of Magical Creatures -”

He was the sudden recipient of a trio of hopeful looks.

“It’s not going to be too bad, is it Hagrid?” Harry wheedled.

Hagrid shook his head. “None o’ that now, yeh three! I’m yer professor, an’ yeh’ll fin’ out abou’ the exam when yeh get to it! Yeh won’ get it outta me like yeh did your firs’ year, with Nicholas Flamel an’ the Sorcerer’s’ Stone!”

“Aw, Hagrid -”

“It wouldn’ be fair, and yeh know it,” he said firmly. “An’ I’m not sayin’ any more!”

 

* * *

****_(Draco)_****  

* * *

_Great. Looney bat._

Father had insisted he take Divination for the first year. He’d said there was a lesson in this that Draco would do well to learn. _No kidding._ He rolled his eyes. But he supposed his father’s point had been well and truly proven by the insectoid Professor Trelawney.

_I make my own fate, and no one else does it for me._

Especially not some feather-brained, ditzy woman who wandered around, Draco was convinced, half-drugged. _Tea leaves. Yeah, right._

But at least he’d taken the final now, and there was no reason his father wouldn’t let him drop this class and get the hell out of here. But he thought, instead, he might just take Muggle Studies . . . he could pass it off as another one of those ‘Know Thy Enemy’ things.

_But it actually might be interesting. Edmund said that he doesn’t know his family’s plans, but it’s likely that they’ll be here next year._

He couldn’t help but wonder why that was. Didn’t they have – well, _lives_ – to get back to, in the Muggle world?

Regardless, he could think now that attacking Peter had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. His year would probably have gone much differently . . . _been much worse,_ he corrected himself, if he hadn’t.

“Thank you, Professor Trelawny,” he used his most polite manner. It was sweltering in the tower, and with the Professor’s vague and irritating manner on top of the smothering fumes - _I might just throw up._ Ugh. An internal sneer, reserved for the tower and it’s drifting, misty occupant.

“Very well, dear,” she sighed mistily, waving a floaty hand. “I foresee a lovely summer ahead . . . do enjoy yourself . . . .”

_Right._ He bent for his bag.

“ **It will happen tonight**.”

He frowned. Her voice was harsh, different. “Sorry?”

But Trelawney didn’t seem to hear him. White shone from her eyes – Draco stared. _She’s having a seizure – or something – I’ve gotta get someone – Pomfrey –_ Though probably by the time he got there and back, it’d be too late to do anything anyway, and she’d have recovered – or not.

But before he could move one way or the other, her mouth opened again, and that same, hoarse rasp emerged.

**“The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight, the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight . . . before midnight . . .the servant . . . will set out . . .to rejoin . . . his master . . . .”**

Her head fell forward onto her chest, and she grunted. Draco stared. _Was – was that a –_

Her head snapped up. “I’m so sorry, dear boy,” she said dreamily. “I must have dozed off . . . the heat of the day, you know . . . .”

_Or . . . not._

But doubt, something he was unaccustomed to feeling, niggled at him. He didn’t like it. “Good day, Professor.”

“Yes, it will be, won’t it . . .” followed him down the trapdoor.

_What should I do?_ Should he even do anything? His father would say that knowledge kept secret was power. He was right.

But Draco had learned quite a lot this year – some of it, his parents would be horrified by. If he ever intended to tell them. But the beatings weren’t worth it, really. He’d learned how to keep secrets early on.

Some of what he had learned, dealt with the difference between right and wrong. And he could finally see it.

Should he tell Dumbledore? There was no assurance the man would believe him. _Probably not, given my track record. And that it’s me._ On the other hand, he had to tell someone . . . didn’t he?

Though there was really no decision to be made.

Grabbing a quill, and a piece of parchment, he began to write down everything he could remember. _Edmund will know what to do . . . ._

* * *

****_(Peter)_  ** **

* * *

Edmund’s voice, hissing in his ear.

“Time’s up.”

He nodded, slowly, rising from his chair in the library. “How do you know?”

A piece of parchment, rough against his fingers. Peter read the incredible words, and met brown eyes. “Where did this come from?”

A wry smile touched his brother’s face. “Draco Malfoy, believe it or not.”

Peter blinked. “Explain.”

“He was leaving his Divination final, with Professor Trelawney.” Edmund nodded to Madam Pince. The corridor was empty. Today was the last day of exams, and by now most of the students were outside, enjoying the weather. The Leaving Feast was planned for tomorrow. _I’d hoped we could wait until all the students were gone._ “Apparently, she made a prophecy.”

He didn’t trouble to hide his astonishment. _The woman from the Christmas feast?_ “Sibyll Trelawney?”

Edmund grimaced, and pulled him out of the way of a group of shrieking second-years. “Apparently Dumbledore keeps her around for a reason,” he answered, when they could hear themselves think once more.

“So it would seem.”

“But prophecy in the Wizarding world isn’t the same as prophecy in Narnia,” Edmund continued. They were almost at the Gryffindor common room. “It’s not as . . .  inevitable, or as ineffable.”

_Wizarding prophecies mark turning points, then. Where the future can be changed._ “We’ve got a warning that Pettigrew doesn’t.”    

Edmund knocked on the Fat Lady’s frame, brown eyes shining. “Exactly.”

* * *

****_(Albus Dumbledore)_  ** **

* * *

“Excuse me, Headmaster.”

Careful glances, whispered words that he couldn’t quite make out. “ – plan – time – _now_.”

“Now?”

Lucy Pevensie nodded.

The professor she had burst into the staffroom to find reached for his wand. Set his expression, and forced a smile in Albus’ direction. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to excuse myself,” he said. “A matter of some urgency has come to my attention.”

“Of course, Remus.”

Snape’s eyes, ever-curious, were on them all. Unfortunately, Albus was just as much in the dark as his potions professor.

As quickly as she had arrived, they both left.

_I’m sure I’ll find out what’s going on soon enough._

* * *

****_(Wormtail)_ ** **

* * *

_Squeak._

Bugs?

_Crunch._

The _big-one_ was back. Noise, knocking. The _big-one_ had guests. The three children, probably. _Owner-boy_ , _cat’s-girl_ , and _Harry-Potter_.

Scrabbling, claws sliding over cups and plates. Headed for the milk-jug. Safe. Small.

More voices – many more. Familiar voice, of someone –

Perched in a teacup, Scabbers froze.

* * *

****_(Harry)_ ** **

* * *

“But what if he tries to escape?”

_I don’t know if I’m more nervous than Hermione, or less._

“He will.” Ron was furious, now that the time had come.

“He’ll hide.” Lupin, full of cold confidence. _He should know better than any what Pettigrew would do. He was friends with him for years._ ‘Was’ being the operative word there. “Whatever he’s in – teakettle, barrel, jug – stopper it with this.”

He passed a blob of thick putty to Harry. It was green, and almost clay-like in texture. “This is going to hold him?” _I mean, if Scabbers really wants out, I don’t see this stopping him._ Twelve years as a rat or not, Pettigrew was still a grown wizard. _And a Death Eater._

“It doesn’t matter how thin or thick you stretch it. When you tap the container with an Unbreakable charm, it’ll lock in place and nothing can break it. If everything goes as planned, he won’t be in there long enough to worry about suffocating.”

From Lupin’s expression, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor didn’t much care.  

Harry’s eyes flicked around the yard surrounding Hagrid’s hut. He couldn’t see –

“They’re in the Forest,” Lupin answered the unspoken question. “With Sirius. In case we give the signal he’s escaped. It’s the closest place for him to go.”

_And if he gets into the underbrush, only a dog’s nose can find him._

Harry gripped the clay tightly. _All right._ “Let’s go,” he said softly.

* * *

****_(Lucy)_ ** **

* * *

“They’re in.”

Lucy loosened her stranglehold on the dagger Peter had given her. Sirius, in dog form, was only a few feet away. His attention was riveted to the hut she could barely see through the brush. _After all, we don’t want Pettigrew to_ know _we’re waiting for him._ _It would defeat the purpose._

At her side was Buckbeak. The hippogriff was close to Hagrid’s large heart, and was never very far from the hut, enjoying treats and attention from the half-giant. _Good enough reason to stick around when the rest of his flock is deeper in the Forest._ Dead ferrets had never appealed to her, but to each his own.

“Nothing to do but wait.” Edmund’s face was tense. _He’s never liked waiting, for all he knows how important it sometimes is._

Peter, spread further down the line of man and beast, was unnaturally calm. _I don’t know how he does it._

He’d positioned them in a half-circle, completely surrounding Hagrid’s hut, with Sirius in the center. The most likely place Pettigrew would run, as it was on a straight line from the back door.

Something crashed.

Lucy’s focus jerked to the hut – shouts, and cries. She winced at a small explosion. A soft curse reached her ears. _Edmund!_

And – something was coming toward them – towards Hagrid’s. Not the owner of the hut, whom Remus was desperately trying to keep distracted outside. A group of figures, dressed in  . . . suits? And the creatures that surrounded them . . . _Dementors!_

Buckbeak bolted into the woods.

* * *

****_(Ron)_ ** **

* * *

And it had all degenerated into chaos. His brothers always had been better at getting their hands on Scabbers. _Where’re Fred and George when you need them?_

“Over here!”  

“I got him -  Ow! Bloody hell!” Ron yelped, dropping the rat. “He _bit_ me!”

“Where’s he -” Harry skidded through shards of what had been a milk bottle. “No – under the table!”

“ _Accio rat!_ ” A terrified squeak, but no result. “Why isn’t it working!”

“Well, he’s not really a rat, Hermione! There!”

“Quick, with the bowl -”

“ _Impedimenta!_ ”

Something exploded. “Son of a -”

“Look out!”

“Ow, Harry!”

“Sorry, Ron!”

“Will the two of you just - ”

Harry lunged. “Got him!”

Silence.

Ron shook his stinging hand, fishing for his handkerchief. “The little bugger _bit_ me! Hard, too!”

“Ron!” Hermione’s hair was standing on end. She had one foot on the bowl Harry had slammed down over Pettigrew. Good job too, judging from the frantic squeaking and scrabbling coming from underneath it. _Bastard,_ Ron thought remorselessly. _Serves you right._

“Good one, Harry!” He offered his friend a hand. The unbitten one. Harry’d thrown himself across the floor, slamming the bowl down over Scabbers as he’d raced along the wall from stove to fat armchair. “Where’s the stuff Lupin gave us?”

Harry dug into a pocket, producing the squashed green putty. Looked at the bowl. “How are we going to get this on?”

_Ah. Crap._ They couldn’t lift the bowl without letting Scabbers – Pettigrew – out.

“Carefully,” Hermione said promptly.

Ron grinned. “You have a plan?”

“Is there parchment anywhere? A big piece, big enough to fit over the opening of the bowl?”

Ron shook his head, looking around. “I don’t see any - ”

“Got some,” Harry waved a big piece of paper at him, with smelly brown stains.

“Gah!” Ron choked. “What _is_ that?”

Hermione gave it a clinical look, taking it from Harry. “From the butcher’s,” she announced. Turned it over, pointed to a shimmering pricetag on the underside. “Probably dead ferrets for Buckbeak.”

“Gross. . .”

“Will the two of you just come over here and help me?”

“Okay, Hermione, geez -”

“Slip the parchment under here,” she instructed, lifting the bowl a hairsbreadth. “It’s going to go all the way over, and it’ll keep him in. Then we’ll put the putty over top of it and cast the charm. Ready?”

“Yeah. Don’t lift it anymore.” The paper slipped reluctantly between floor and bowl, impeded by four tiny, clawed feet. “What if he slashes through it?”

“It’s tough,” Harry grunted.

“We’ll be quick,” Hermione assured him.

Shuffling sounds from the bowl, muffled squeaks of distress. “Oh shut up,” Ron told it. Parchment all the way under, and Harry was ready to slip his hand under as well, keeping it in place. Keeping Pettigrew in.

“Ready? On three. One, two, flip!” 

Cold seeped into his bones. Harry was shaking. “Harry – what – ”

“Dementors!” Hermione gasped, eyes wild. “Here!”

“I say, what’s going on here?”

He couldn’t tell who dropped the bowl.

“Minister Fudge?”

“STOP THAT RAT!”

“Professor Lupin!” Hermione shouted.

 

* * *

****_(Fudge)_****  

* * *

“What’s all the commotion?” Fudge grumbled to himself. He frowned at the shrill shouts and noises of broken crockery. Were those – children’s voices? _Dumbledore informed me that the exams were over. What are children doing in the half-giant’s home? Not safe, not even remotely sensible . . ._

He sighed. _A routine visit to the school, to judge the effectiveness of the Muggle-Studies program expansion at closing of term, and we find yet another area in which Dumbledore’s rules are lax. The School Governors will not be impressed . . ._

And as he had authorized not only this inspection of the school but the addition of Muggles to the Hogwarts curriculum, any repercussions were unacceptable.

“Wait here,” he ordered his entourage. Including the Dementors escorting them from the gates to Hogwarts’ front doors. After all, with a maniac like Black on the loose, and after Harry Potter . . . _One can’t be too careful._

He pushed open the door, and was confronted by an absolute disaster. Chairs upturned, cutlery strewn amidst bits of glass and pieces of plates and cups. And three children – a boy with fiery hair, a girl who looked as if she’d never seen a comb, and – _Harry Potter!_

“I say, what’s going on here?”

The bowl they were crouched over fell with a _thunk_ , and miraculously didn’t break. A rodent raced out, headed for his feet.

“Minister Fudge?”

“STOP THAT RAT!”

Something small, furred, and entirely too rat-like raced over his shoes. “Aaaggghhhh!”

The girl pushed past him, sending him reeling into the doorframe. He clutched at it for balance, as the two boys ran by.

“Professor Lupin!” she screamed.  

Fudge winced at the loud whistle. _What in blazes is going on here!_

He tottered out of the hut, managing to make his way somewhat steadily down the steps. Once on firm ground, he straightened his robes, smoothed his hair.

And walked over to the children clustered in a panic about their professor. _Ah, the werewolf_. He still had extreme doubts about the wisdom of allowing someone like _that_ to teach at a school.

_But still, must see what all the commotion is about._ No doubt it was something highly inappropriate. _Dumbledore really must keep better control of his staff . . ._

* * *

****_(Sirius)_  ** **

* * *

A shrill whistle spiked through the air.

“That’s the signal!”

Tiny brown streak, darting into the brush. Scent of _small-rat_.

_Run!_

Brambles whipped his nose, tangled in fur.

_Squeak! Squeak, squeak!_

Closer, closer.

Scrabbling in the bushes. Scent thick in his nose. There -

Cold.

Worse than the ocean he’d swum. Glacial, freezing chill.

Familiar cold.

_“Peter?”_

_Sirius pushed his way into the flat, but nothing barred the door. Lights were on. Nothing seemed wrong, but – “Wormtail?”_

_No answer._

_Auror’s instinct screamed at him. From room to room he moved, motions quicker with every empty set of walls. “Peter!” Not here. No one was here._

_No signs of forced entry. No scorch marks from curses – hell, no tingle in the wards indicating that someone had used ‘Alohamora’, the most basic of opening spells, to get in. Nothing._

_Peter was gone._

_Why? Where would he go? The entire plan hinged on him staying safe, out of sight, and Peter_ knew _that. So why would he –_

_When he realized what it could be – what it_ must _be, if Peter was gone of his own free will – Sirius raced from the flat. He had no time._

A gasp of air. He’d lost his grip on Padfoot, slipped back into humanity. And the Dementors were coming closer –

_The Dark Mark, glaring serpentine and green, over the house. But he could still hope – that they hadn’t been here, that he wasn’t too late –_

_“James? Lily?”_

_There were only a few lights on in the house. Front and back door, living room. And a window Sirius knew, from multiple visits and Godfatherly duties, to be Harry’s._

_The knob turned at his touch._

_Dread weighted his heart._

_“Lily?”_

_No sound. Not even a baby crying, at being woken so loudly in the night._

_“James? Dammit, Prongs, answer me!”_

_And then he stumbled, over something lying in his path. “Lumos.”_

God, no! No, no, no! NO!

_This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. James was – the Auror took control, coolly recognizing the killing curse, and moving on. Nothing to be done now. Weep later. Now – Lily, and Harry. God, were they still alive?_

_The body, on the nursery floor, answered his question. He wasn’t brave enough to shift the spill of red hair, and check for a pulse. The chest wasn’t moving._

_And Harry –_

He could see, only for a moment. The grey-cowled figure reached up with rotting hands, and lowered its hood. Scabbed skin stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth – a great, gasping hole, sucking in air with the rattling sound of death.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The chill vanished, taking the immediacy of memory with it. Sirius gasped, felt someone grip his fingers, whispering – but he couldn’t become Padfoot. Not yet – they were still too close, it was too soon –

And only one thought penetrated his consciousness. _Pettigrew’s gone._

* * *

****_(Albus Dumbledore)_  ** **

* * *

He looked at the three desperate children in front of him. Their story would have sounded incredible, unbelievable – to anyone else. But he had been the leader of the Order of the Phoenix since its inception, and he’d thought to count himself among the few who _knew_ Sirius Black. And Peter Pettigrew.

_It makes too much sense._

Fudge had been placated, apologized to by the three children before him. Hermione had jabbed Ron in the ribs when he’d first opened his mouth, a disgruntled look on his face. She was the cleverest young witch of her age Albus had ever had the pleasure to teach.

Then, she’d proceeded to astonish her friends with a tearful story of how Ron’s pet rat had been lost for _months_ , and she’d been _sure_ her cat had eaten him, and when they found him in Hagrid’s hut they’d been so _excited_ that they’d accidentally knocked over a few plates, and they were only trying to _catch_ him but the Minister had _startled_ them and now poor Scabbers was gone _forever_ because he’d run into the _Forbidden Forest_ and then the _Dementors_ had come and scared them all so _awfully_. . .

The torrent of words was impressive. _Where does she find the room to breathe?_

And Fudge was too preoccupied soothing a sobbing, hiccupping young girl clinging to his robes, and dealing with her two stammering, wide-eyed friends, to notice Lupin had slipped away.

Now, firmly ensconced in the staffroom and being assiduously watched over by one displeased Severus Snape, Fudge was decidedly out of the way. At least until they had accomplished what they needed to.

The Pevensies were missing – in all likelihood, back at PevensieTower with Sirius and Lupin, planning their next steps from this point on.

Short of speaking to the man himself, Dumbledore was convinced of Sirius’ innocence. But Pettigrew was still gone, and that posed . . . problems. _It seems, at this point, that there is little we can do._

“ _But you believe us._ ” Harry, desperate for an answer. They were waiting there, in his office, hoping that he might be able to cure the problem. He didn’t know if it could be solved. _But I have faith in them. And they – all of them – deserve the chance. There is a way . . . ._

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly. “But I have no power to make other men see the truth.”

Harry’s face went stark white. Ron’s fists clenched. There was a tiny gasp from Hermione.

“What we need,” Dumbledore said slowly, his eyes moving from the messy-haired and despairing boy in front of him to the one girl in the group, “is more _time._ ”

“But –” Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. “OH!”

“Now, pay attention,” he said, very lowly and clearly. “ _You must not be seen._ Miss Granger, you know the law – you know what is at stake . . . _You – must – not – be – seen._ ”

Both boys looked to her, confusion on their faces. “Hermione, what - ”

He cut them off. “It is five minutes to six. Miss Granger, two turns should do it. Good luck.”

With that, he turned his back on the three children, moving around a bookshelf and out of sight. Spying Fawkes’ perch, he made his way to the phoenix. Crimson rustled, and a soft chirp greeted him.

“Hello, Fawkes,” he murmured.

A rumble of stone – the gargoyle was admitting someone. Three pairs of feet rushed across the office. Feathery weight settled on his shoulder.

“Professor Dumbledore!”

_I hope they’ve done it . . . ._

* * *

****_(Hermione)_  ** **

* * *

“Hermione, what –”

“It is five minutes to six. Miss Granger, two turns should do it. Good luck.”

As soon as the Headmaster turned away, she yanked the chain out from under her robes and hissed, “Come here!”

“Hermione, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Get in!”

It was a tight squeeze, but the chain on the Time-Turner was overlarge for a reason. _Very handy._

She upended the miniature hourglass, and braced herself for the dizzying sensation. And as Ron and Harry stared, time reversed itself around them.

They found themselves standing in an empty office, the sun much higher than it had been moments ago. “C’mon,” she hissed, making for the gargoyle. “Remember, we _can’t_ be seen!”

“Hermione, what _is_ that?”

“It’s a Time-Turner,” she explained as quickly as she could. “It’s been how I’ve been getting to classes all year. C’mon!”

“And what are you three doing outside the Headmaster’s office?” _Snape._

“Nothing!” She whirled, giving him her most earnest look. “I’d wanted to ask Professor Dumbledore about dropping classes for next term. As you know, my schedule is overloaded, Professor Snape, and I was just –”

“Of course,” he snapped. Suspicious black eyes scanned Ron and Harry. _At least they’ve had practice playing innocent before._ Not that Snape was easy to fool. But it was the last day of exams, and he clearly had somewhere else to be.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, dragging them down the corridor in the opposite direction. “He saw us!”

“Why’s that so bad?”

“Because, Harry!” She peered around a corner, but exams were in session and no one was in the halls. “We’re playing with Time. If you ran into yourself in the hallway, what would you think?”

“I – I’d think there was some Dark magic going on -”

“Exactly! Loads of witches and wizards have ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake! We’ve got to be careful!”

Ron nodded. “I’ve heard about that.” His face was pale. “S’really awful, too, screws with the timeline something funny.”

_I really don’t need to hear this right now!_ “We’ve got to get out of here. It’s three o’clock, we’ve got -”

Footsteps.

“Hide!”

Stuffed into one of Filch’s closets, they listened.

“ – _made a prophecy.”_

_“Sibyll Trelawney?”_

She knew that voice . . .

“It’s Peter!” Harry blurted.

“Shhh!”

But any noise they might have made was overshadowed by a bunch of shrieking students. _Probably just out of an exam._ She pressed her ear to the door.

_“Apparently Dumbledore keeps her around for a reason.”_

“They’re going to get us,” she whispered. “From the Gryffindor common room.”  

The voices faded. A few more moments of intense listening. Hermione cracked the door open. “All clear.”

“That was  . . . weird,” Harry decided.

“No kidding!” Ron, looking up and down the hallway. “Trelawney made a prophecy?”

The Pevensies had just knocked on the portrait, and told them it was time. They’d all thought there would be time enough to explain later. Maybe there would be – later, later. She was getting a headache thinking about it.

“We have to get to the Forest,” Ron said suddenly. “Hide out, before Peter, Edmund and Lucy get set up.”

“That gives us less than an hour,” Harry looked at his watch. Frowned, shook it, and then remembered.

“Or thereabouts,” Hermione agreed. “Come on.”

Their next obstacle appeared just outside the doors, in the form of an large, open, sunlit lawn. Very large. Very open. Very long way to go, without being seen.

“Can we cross the lawn without anyone spotting us?”

“There’s the invisibility cloak. But it’s in my trunk.”

Hermione shook her head. “No time.”

“Have to run for it, then, and hope no one’s looking out a window,” Ron said determinedly.

_Oh, I don’t like this plan!_ “If we stick close to the wall until we reach that corner - ” she pointed. “From there’s the shortest distance to Hagrid’s hut. We can get to the Forest from there.”

A moment of silence, in consideration of the route. Ron broke it. “Ladies first.”

_Ooooh, he – fine!_ Rock was warm against her back. And then there was nothing for it. _Please don’t let us be seen, please don’t let us be seen,_ she begged as she race across the open field. Rounding Hagrid’s hut, out of sight of the castle, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wow, Hermione, you’re fast!” Ron puffed up behind her, face red in the summer heat. Harry came up behind them.

For a moment, they all caught their breaths.

“How’re we going to catch him?” Harry asked suddenly. “It’s not as if we can hold him.” He nodded at the red-spotted kerchief tied around Ron’s hand. “And if he transforms, we’re in real trouble.”

_Are we ever . . ._ “Look around the outside of Hagrid’s hut. There’s always junk lying around -”

“Hermione,” Ron had a strange expression on his face. “Scabbers. He’s in there, alone, right now. Why don’t we just - ”

“ _No_ , Ron!”  

“Why not?”

“Harry, Ron, _think!_ ” she demanded. “If we go in there now, and we don’t catch him – he’ll be off into the Forbidden Forest and there will be _no way_ we’ll ever have a chance at finding him! And then, when we come with the Pevensies, there’ll be nothing here for us to find, and Sirius will be out here, _for no reason_ when the Dementors come with Fudge. They almost _caught_ him before – and the only reason they didn’t was because he’d chased Pettigrew so far in!”

Harry paled. Ron gulped.

“Don’t you get it! We _can’t_ change things from the way we _know_ they’re supposed to be, and we _can’t be seen!_ It may already be botched because Snape almost caught us coming out of Dumbledore’s office – and he saw us!”

“Thought he was going to give us detention, he saw us,” Ron muttered.

_Oh, I’m going to kill him!_ He obviously saw the look on her face. “Okay, Hermione, okay.”

“C’mon,” Harry said quietly. “We don’t have much time left to get to where we need to be.”

Hermione looked around the outside of the hut. Logs, remnants of the Care of Magical Creatures class . . . . _There has to be something – an empty cage, anything . . ._

“Here, grab something to put him in – Harry, d’you still have that putty?”

“Yeah.”

“Good – we can trap him in this.” Ron held aloft a small, battered cauldron.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s perfect, Ron!”

“Ready?” He grinned. Turning to the Forest, though, the expression slid off his face.

“Let’s go.”  Harry, quietly determined.

They got inside none too soon – the Pevensies were approaching Hagrid’s hut, calling him out . . . . Plunging deep through the branches, Hermione heard faint traces of Lupin’s voice.

“Are we far back enough?” Harry, looking very much as if he hoped so.

She didn’t want to go any deeper either. But if the Pevensies came further in – she peered through the brush. _“Shhhh!”_

Buckbeak and Lucy were two yards away, Sirius further down the line. _Good._

“ _They’re in.”_ They could just barely hear Edmund.

But the next few noises they could hear all to well. “Ouch,” Ron winced at his own yell. Shouts, shrieks, the tinkling _crashes_ of broken plates and cups.

“Wow, this is weird,” Harry muttered. At the explosion from Hagrid’s cabin, they all winced.

And something . . . _large!_ . . .  barreled through the branches. Straight at them. Feathers, fierce golden eyes. _Buckbeak!_

The hippogriff opened his beak, ready to scream challenge -

“Ron, Harry! Bow!” she hissed.

Movement next to her. She carefully, _slowly_ , raised her eyes to the creature before her. He seemed to consider. _I hope hippogriffs have better memories than_ –

It bent forelegs in a swift bow. Harry hurried forward.

The hippogriff gave a soft _skreek_ , and Hermione chanced a look around. The Pevensies were still in position, but –

A high-pitched whistle cut through the forest.

“He’s coming!” Ron hissed.

“Come _on_!”

“Buckbeak! Where are they, Buckbeak?” _Harry, I really hope he actually_ does _understand us the way Hagrid keeps insisting he can – because if he tries to eat Pettigrew, we’re in_ real _trouble . . . ._

The hippogriff clacked its beak, pushing through the trees, toward where Sirius had been.

A wave of cool air, slapping them in the face.

Dementors, headed their way. Weaving in and around the line of people made by the Pevensies – who could see them, but were unaffected by the leeching chill surrounding them.

A rustling in the brush.

_Squeak!_

A three-toed, taloned foot slammed downward – _no, Buckbeak!_ – pinning the rat by its tail. Pettigrew froze.

And Ron scooped up Scabbers, dropped him into the cauldron. She slapped the putty, a big thick disk, over the top.

A flick of her wand, a few murmured words, and it was over. They’d done it.

But the Dementors were still advancing on black fur, which had stopped dead.

“Move, Sirius!” Harry breathed beside her. He was pale in the shadows of the Forest, and shaking. “ _Move!_ ”

But black fur rippled into human skin, into the form of a man, stretched out and helpless before the freezing, soul-sucking horror of the Dementors. A soft moan reached them. “ _No. . . ._ ”

_Oh my God!_

A Dementor, one of the at-least-ten gliding into the clearing, had reached the stricken man. It lowered its hood as they watched, frozen by chill horror, and grabbed Sirius by the neck, lifting him to its face -

And Harry was pushing past her and Ron, wand upraised, face filled with determination. _“Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A silver stag shot from the end of his wand. Hermione stared. _That’s a Patronus! But how did Harry –that’s really,_ really _advanced magic!_ Antlers lowered, it charged the Dementor about to steal Sirius’ soul. With a soundless shriek, decaying grey robes fled. The silvery Patronus loped through the clearing, driving the Dementors before it.

Harry stood, panting, over the prone form of his godfather.

“Sirius? Sirius!”

She darted out to the clearing, and dragged Harry back into the bushes. “Hermione, what -”

The three Pevensies burst into the grove. Seeing the man crumpled on the ground, they clustered around. Soft voices filled the trees.  

_Safe,_ Hermione sighed. _Now all we have to do is get Pettigrew to Dumbledore –_

“Harry?” Ron, staring at their friend. Who had gone rigid, and was shivering. Dread, and something more, filled her. Knuckles white on Ron’s arm, she turned.

A Dementor was standing there – she couldn’t move – it was cold, _so cold!_

“Begone,” came a firm voice from behind her. _Peter?_ “You have no right to hunt here. _And you_ _will begone_!”

Grey robes vanished. Hermione blinked. Thought rushed back. _He’s seen us!_

But Peter Pevensie glanced back toward the light, beyond the trees of the ForbiddenForest. Where she, Ron, and Harry were still talking frantically with Professor Lupin.

And he spied the stoppered cauldron in Ron’s hand. In the silence that rose between them, the scrabbling of tiny claws against metal echoed loudly.

Peter smiled. “I think,” he said softly, “that you three ought to go see Professor Dumbledore, as soon as we leave.”

Hermione heaved a sigh. _We don’t have much time_ –

“I’ll make sure everyone clears out of your way,” Peter continued. “When you’re done there, come to PevensieTower.” Blue eyes latched on green. “Harry, don’t worry about Sirius. Remus will help us take care of him.”

“Thanks.”

With a nod, Peter disappeared back into the clearing. They heard his voice, coaxing Sirius to change form, collecting his family. Moments later, they were gone.

“Come on!” said Hermione. “We have to get back to Dumbledore’s office – we only have ten minutes!”

“Can we make it?” Ron, extremely worried.

Harry gripped Buckbeak’s leash, gave them a brilliant smile. “If we hurry. Let’s go!”

* * *

****_(Remus)_ ** **

* * *

“Are you alright?”

Pale eyes blinked at him from over a steaming mug, more at peace than he had seen them since they had been reunited. “I will be.”

“Good.”

He sipped his own hot chocolate. Warmth shot through him. _“Pettigrew’s been captured,” Peter told them. “How, can wait until later. We have to talk to the children, and to Dumbledore. They’ll be along shortly.”_

And what a conversation that had been. Harry, Ron and Hermione were relating in detail their adventures with the Time-Turner; Albus had informed them that Fudge was in the staff room.

The stoppered cauldron was sitting in the middle of the room, refreshed with oxygen by a handy spell every fifteen minutes or so.

They hadn’t decided what to do with Pettigrew yet.

“There must be a trial,” Edmund said firmly. “In front of the entire Wizarding world. So that even the littlest child knows the truth.”

“Handing Pettigrew over to Fudge is dangerous,” Lucy agreed. None of them appeared to place any faith in the Ministry. After hearing how his government had attempted to force answers from an innocent man, and then locked him away anyway, Remus didn’t either. _There is no way I am letting that happen again. If something should happen -_

Sirius would be right back in Azkaban. _Suffering_. And they would both be alone. _Never._

Dumbledore stroked his beard. “It will not be easy,” he cautioned. “The Wizarding world has believed Sirius guilty for over a decade. And the word of Muggles will not hold much weight in court.”

“Really.” And there was a look on Peter’s face that only those who could see Thestrals would ever fully understand.

“It doesn’t matter,” Remus stated. “It is the truth – and we will make them see it.” The first step being to throw the information out to the public. That Peter Pettigrew was alive – that Sirius had never had a trial – _It will be dangerous._ But they were already being hunted. _It will raise public suspicion, and unrest. And when Dumbledore brings the proposition in front of the Ministry . . ._

_We have a chance. And we have sanctuary._

The Pevensies had told them both that there was room in the Mansion for two more. And so during the summer, Remus and Sirius would be there; rebuilding their friendship, and planning for the future.

The curse on the Dark Arts job seemed to have melted away – he would be teaching again next year, to his eternal surprise. He couldn’t help but think that somehow, the Pevensies had something to do with that as well.

He smiled at his best friend. They had only one more obstacle before them, and then. . . . For the first time in over a decade, the future shone bright once more.

* * *

****_(Susan)_  ** **

* * *

The Mansion.

It was so . . . empty. _That doesn’t make any sense_ , she scolded herself. _You never came back here with them, anyway. You’ve avoided them for years._

The tearstained letter in her pocket was proof of that. It had taken her almost a year to get up enough courage to come back here.

_I didn’t know._

How? How could she not know? She’d always thought she would, somehow, if – if something should -

_“Susan Pevensie?”_

_“Yes?”_

_"There is a letter, for you. From England.”_

She’d broken with them. Running from something she couldn’t remember, and they couldn’t forget. _But it was just a game! A game!_

But she would never – could never – stop loving them.

And now she would be the only one to ever return to the Mansion. _Alone._

The sound of a door opening, behind her. She tensed. _Who on Earth -_

“Susan?”

_It can’t be._

A different voice, this time. “Su?”

_No!_ She wouldn’t look. _They’re dead! All –_

Fingers reached out. Pushed dark strands out of her face, an achingly familiar gesture. Two brown gazes, and one blue, met her tears.

“Lu? E - Edmund? Peter?”

Warm bodies enfolded her on all sides. She sank into the offered comfort. Harsh sobs ripped from her. _Oh, thank Aslan!_

_Aslan . . ._ it flooded her, memories shaking off the dust of years, bursting from the boxes she had confined them to. _How could I ever forget – Narnia! Oh, Aslan!_

The chill that had encased her heart shattered, as the White Witch’s grip on Narnia had been broken. Simply by the power of that name.

And she thought that she might finally understand. _Faith._

 

 

**_Fin_ **


End file.
